


Corvus Fallere, Book 2

by Mousewrites



Series: Corvus Fallere [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breathplay, Caning, Dom/sub, F/M, First Time, Flogging, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Marking, Masturbation, Multi, Other, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Spanking, Training, Transformation, Voyeurism, rope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mousewrites/pseuds/Mousewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you've accepted the unacceptable... how do you go on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I woke at dawn, the sun streaming in the large windows and making the insides of my eyelids red. A few moments of silence, as I listened to whether anyone else was up, were the last remnants of sleep, and I cherished it them as only someone with too little time and too much to avoid could understand.

 

A squeak- the door - I knew that a Coraxis had brought our food. By the time I was up, sitting on my trunk in the waiting pose, Ron and Hermione had woken and were clambering to their places as well. I shifted on my knees; while the last month had toughened me to this position, I was still not comfortable in it. The Coraxis brought in the large tray and set it on the desk before stoking the fire and tidying up the messes we had made before we slept. It made our beds behind us; it never spoke to us. None of the five that served Snape ever spoke to us at all. For some reason that always made me angry, and I glared at its feathered back as it made Hermione's bed.

 

A sound, and Snape was pushing back his bed curtains, waiting for the Coraxis to bring him his robe. Most people, myself included, looked rumpled and unimpressive upon first rolling out of bed; Snape was impeccable. He looked just as he did when he went to bed, right down to the book clasped in his hand. He shot us a glance as he crossed to the table, and all three of us waited, muscles tensing.

 

He held us there with a look as he settled down, letting the Coraxis bring him slippers and a cup of the foul tea he drank. He downed it in one go, licking his lips, still staring at us. I shifted, uncomfortable. He had mentioned, last night, that today would be different... My stomach clenched. He hadn't touched us sexually in all this time, though we daily touched ourselves, under his unwavering gaze. Three months, and nothing. I couldn’t even tell if the spectacle of three teenagers racing to get themselves off for the prize of a chocolate biscuit excited him. I knew, I knew that he’d been working us toward more, and half of me wished he'd get it over with.

 

The other half was scared witless.

 

Finally he snapped his fingers and held his first three fingers over his bent thumb; the signal for all of us to pay attention, and then curled them into a fist. The three of us slid off our trunks and walked on our knees to his feet, where we resumed our kneeling positions. I hated that signal; the closed fist meaning kneel, the subservience of crawling to him. At least we were still upright; sometimes he had us slither on our bellies to him.

 

He looked down, black eyes taking in our painfully learned posture, his wand lifting a chin here, pushing back a shoulder there. I never got my head back far enough for him, and the wand dug at a familiar bruise under my chin. "Farther, Modha, a bit farther. There... better." His words made my teeth clench. Goddamn it, my name is Harry, I snarled... but only in my mind. The magic had closed off our voices for weeks, after Ron's inevitable verbal outbreak. We had gotten used to it.

 

Every day I was grateful that we had learned the Coraxis's language. Sometimes, at night, we could sign to each other from our spell-locked beds, milking what comfort we could from each other's presence.

 

Other times, of course, I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

 

Snape sat back, looking at us with the ghost of a smile. He lifted one foot from its slipper, and placed it in front of Ron, who bent with a grimace and pressed his lips to the pale flesh. Hermione's expression was even blanker; she had become a master at hiding her feelings. Watching your friends being beaten because you made a face will do that to you. And then the foot was presented to me, and I caught the pleading in two sets of eyes. They begged me to do as I was told. They always begged me.

 

I tried, for them.

 

I got closer, this time. My lips actually touched the cold flesh before the wildness took me, and I almost - almost- contained it.

 

I bit him instead.

 

His gasp was satisfying, but the kick bruising my jaw and sending me over backwards came close to making me regret the bite. "I scrambled to my feet, further breaking his precious rules, and glared at him, fists clenched. He stood, slowly, his hands slipping into his robe to hide, I hoped, their angry movement. I loved his anger, to break that cool façade and claw at the man underneath. My efforts to do this usually won me marks, welts or bruises to wear the whole day, only to be healed as I slept. I often wished Sometimes I wished I could keep them; a badge of honor in this horrible place.

 

His black eyes stared into mine, and I glared at him. There was a spark there, a gleeful anticipation burning in his eyes, and I felt my snarl stretch into a grin.

 

"Again, Modha? Must we do this every morning?"

 

My fingers twitched into a 'screw you, dickhead,' but I don't think anyone but maybe Hermione noticed. Snape motioned at the Coraxis to clear his desk, which it did with the same bland efficiency they did everything else. Snape pointed at me, and swung his finger at the desk, crooking his finger downward. As a direct order, I couldn't refuse it, but I held back for just a moment, to let him know I wanted to, before I draped myself over the desk, clasping my hands to the far side. My fingers sought and found the nail indents that I had been putting into the smooth wood all month, and I dug in, waiting for the first strike.

 

Snape moved around me, murmuring to Hermione and Ron, and I hoped they weren’t watching. Snape had never made good on his promise to beat them if I misbehaved; most likely because he was enjoying beating on me too much. I clenched and unclenched my fingers, letting chips of wood worm under my nails. Picking them out gave me something to do later, when we sat for hours, waiting for him to return from wherever it was that he went.

 

Cold fingers slid along my legs, gathering up my loincloth and smoothing it down across my back. I felt it harden into the shield that would protect my insides, and felt my cock harden as well. Fear, I told myself, fear and anger, and it's a natural reaction. Lust, my belly whispered at me, lust and want, and you're an unnatural freak.

 

Snape stepped back, and I heard the whistle as he tested the air with whatever it was. I tried to identify it, but with an endless supply of implements, I could never quite guess correctly. The whistle did sound thicker, less... whistle-y than the whips, so maybe it was a-

 

Crack

and burn, and yes, that was some kind of crop, not a cane, the cane was sharper and -

Crack

 

and cut, this was just bruisingly hard, and I rolled my head on the desk before the next -

 

Crack

 

strike and I sucked in a breath, fingers clenching hard, splinters pushing under my nails as I twitched my feet against the cold floor, trying not to make a noise. He paused a moment, a blessedly cool finger tracing across the tracks of the welts, and I bit my lip.

 

"Is it enough, Modha? Will you relent?"

 

I kicked at his shin, wanting him to get on with it.

 

Crack

 

Crack

 

Crack

 

And I struggled for air, trembling against the desk. My cock scraped against the wood of the desk, my nails digging into the trim, and I thought, for a moment, that I might be able to snap the desk in half between them.

 

Crack

 

Crack

 

Crack

 

"I relent, I relent!" I tried to yell, but the muting spell stole my voice, but I pushing up off the desk, one hand flying back to protect myself. "Stop, please..." A long pause, and then the crop trailed up my arse, the soft tip tapping at the welts. I bit my lip, groaning and letting my face thump back down into the wood. A click of his fingers and the loincloth softened and slithered down around my burning skin, and I panted against the wood, my breath wet and hard. He left me there for the remainder of his breakfast, and I imagined I could hear him feeding Hermione and Ron from his plate. I was almost always over his desk, or in the corner, or sent to my bed while they had breakfast. The Coraxis always gave me something to eat later; tasteless mush, but it kept my stomach from growling during ‘lessons.’

 

My cock stayed hard the entire time, digging into the wood, and I willed my erection away. It didn’t work.

 

It never did.

 

Eventually they were finished, and I was allowed to kneel with my companions on the stone floor. Snape disappeared into his dressing room, and we had a moment alone.

 

Why? Hermione signed, why do you do that to yourself every morning?

 

My jaw clenched. You know why.

 

Her lips thinned into a line. You’re going to go too far. You know that.

 

Not far enough.

 

She turned away, crossing her hands at the small of her back, effectively ending the conversation. Ron was as he usually was, chewing his lip and watching the door Snape went through, waiting. I could just see the fading welts across his back from yesterday’s lesson. I often wondered to why Ron was allowed to keep his marks... but the set spell on my bed erased mine.

 

Maybe because I wanted mine. Perverse bastard, our ‘trainer’ was.

 

Snape emerged and we all snapped to attention, holding still out of long practice. He stood over us, arms crossed, correcting any mistakes in our posture with short comments. When we had managed to be ‘perfect’ for ten minutes, he snapped and opened his fist in front of us, palm up, and we rose to our feet, as gracefully as we could. Another gesture, and we settled into our standing rest position; legs slightly spread, hands clasped behind us, heads bowed.

 

We knew, from painful experience, that we could stand like this for hours.

 

“I promised you last night that today would be different. This is, indeed true. As your contracts state, there was a condition on my part for your obedience. As you have, for the most part, been obedient, I feel that it is time to fulfill my part of the bargain.”

 

Next to me, Hermione froze, and I could see Ron’s toes curling and uncurling. I waited; Snape never did anything for us without a catch. We got to go outside, but we had to weed one of the overgrown gardens. We got to eat at the table, but if at any time Ron or I lost our erections while eating, we were back on the floor. We got to sleep in late once a week... but we had to stay up for an entire day and night beforehand. Snape drove a hard bargain.

 

He circled around us, his fingers testing our welts and bruises, playing with our hair. “But...” he murmured, leaning in to speak into my ear, “if I let you out like this, all the other houses will assume your training complete, and demand your... services. And we all know that’s not true, is it?” He slid over to Hermione, and I could just make out what he said. “And I’m sure that, despite your protestations, you wouldn’t like losing your virginity to Malfoy, would you Bili? Or perhaps Modha would like to receive the Dark Lord, his first time? I thought not. Therefore,” he said, stepping back, “You will go as underlings of House Corvus, as Diciplus who have... fallen out of favor. As you, as Novicii, lost your name, the disgraced of Corvus lose their faces.”

 

Snape brushed his fingers over the black ribbon at my throat, sending rippling shivers across my shoulders and up my neck. I gasped, my hands clenching together to keep them from moving, as I felt my skin twist and prickle. My vision skewed, and I felt as if I was half blind... and yet I could see the beds behind me much clearer. A movement caught my eye, and I snapped at Snape’s hand with my beak.

 

Beak?

 

Panic bubbled up and I broke position long enough to bring one hand to my face. My feathered face, complete with a long beak. Snape’s hand caught mine and gently put me back in position, smoothing my ruffled feathers with a kind hand.

 

“Shhhh, Modha, it isn’t permanent, and I must say, it is a good look for you. Here...” and his hand approached my face again, this time to pluck my dangling glasses off of my beak. My vision righted itself; apparently the transformation corrected my eyesight. He petted me a bit more, and I found myself wanting to push up to his hand, to rub my crest against his fingers. He tapped my beak with one finger, softly, and then moved on to Hermione.

 

She was staring at me, curiosity warring with apprehension on her face. By the time Snape reached for her throat, she had composed herself, her eyes sliding shut and her shoulders squaring. Out of all of us, Hermione could look at anything as a lesson, and prepare herself accordingly. I twisted my head to the side to get a look at her transformation, and swallowed heavily. That is what had happened; black feathers sprouting and growing the wake of the ripple, coating the pale skin to mid chest with glossy black feathers. The plumage covered the change in the structures underneath, and by the time the beak had grown from her face, her eyes had become shiny black orbs high on her bird-shaped head. No other changes seemed to be forthcoming, and I breathed a sigh of relief; I had been afraid to look down to see if my feet had broken into claws, or if I had sprouted a tail.

 

Hermione looked at me when Snape moved on, and I found I could read nothing in her blank black eyes. Her hand twitched. Not so bad. I still feel like me. Any pain?

 

No. Didn’t hurt.

 

Her head tipped at me, and I felt like a bug about to be snapped up. Rather clever, this is. If I didn’t know that was you, I’d never recognize you.

 

I shrugged; I didn’t like to think of Snape as clever... although I knew I couldn’t really deny it. Not after everything I had seen.

 

Ron was trembling; he never liked transfiguration, especially when it involved his own body parts. He had confessed to me once that he was terrified of being transformed into one of his brothers... and then never getting back again. I could never decided if he was afraid he’d become a prig like Percy.... or if merely the thought of losing even more of his identity to the mass that was his family scared him witless.

 

He wasn’t witless now, though, standing firm in the resting position, hands clenched and head down. His shoulders shook very, very faintly, and the edge of hair that hid his face swung in time to his movements.

 

Snape was never violent with Ron. He tipped Ron’s head up with his hand, rather than with the wand as he always did me, and rubbed a thumb over the freckled cheek. “Shhh, Taru. It won’t hurt, and I promise that by nightfall you’ll be back to your spotted self. Deep breath. Good. Hold.” and he rubbed his fingers over the black stain that was Ron’s ribbon.

 

Ron’s head flew back as the feathers burst from his skin and flowed over his face. His beak opened in a squawk as soon as it emerged, and his hands flew out, only to be caught and held by Snape. Snape transferred both wrists to one hand, and caught the back of the feathered head in the other, pulling it forward and down so that Ron had to shut his beak or impale himself on it. The feathers on his shoulders rippled and shook, fluffing up and settling again. I could hear him breathing hard.

 

“Nothing so easy with you, Taru. Shhhh, shhh now. Nothing you can do. It’s done, over. Shhhh.” Snape set Ron’s hands behind him again, where they clasped each other automatically. A few more words from Snape, and Ron settled again, his beak clacking very softly every few moments. Snape stepped back, observing us, then snapped and curled his hand into a fist. We dropped to our knees; at least in this we knew what was expected of us. He looked at us for a moment, then turned to the desk, gathering papers into a bundle and tying them with a green ribbon. I glanced over at Ron.

 

All right, mate?

 

Fine, he signed shortly. I sighed; Ron rarely took the chance that Snape would see him breaking position enough to talk. We would talk tonight, if the light were bright enough.

 

Snape clicked at us and motioned us to follow him, using the upright twist of fingers that meant he wanted us to walk. We fell into line behind him, hands clasped behind us and paces measured so that we walked in time with each other. For Ron and I this meant our steps were slightly shorter than comfortable; Hermione had to lengthen hers, and her body always looked a touch out of center with the longer reach. It also meant that the three of us were occupied completely by the task of following Snape at the required three paces and keeping in step, so much so that we rarely could be sure where we were going. But today we were headed for areas unknown, and I could feel the tension in my shoulders build as Snape held a door bearing the House Corvus shield. We were leaving the area we knew, and headed up. I kept twisting my head around, feeling the odd new muscles in my neck move, listening with ears too far back in my head to the clicks my beak made as I tried to make faces.

  
Into Hogwarts itself.


	2. Chapter 2

The walk wasn’t long. By the time I had become good and tense we were stopped by Snape’s signal, and then ordered to our knees again, this time with our heads pressed to the floor. The beak made this difficult, but a brief glance at Hermione and we decided that if we twisted our heads to the side, our cheeks to the ground would have to do. We made sure that the three of us turned our heads the same way. Together in all things, as Snape was so often reminding us.

Snape rapped on a door, and a moment later there was a long squeak as the door slowly opened.

“Master Snape, what an unexpected pleasure. Please, come in!”

“Thank you, Mecurais. Leave the door; three of the Faceless have come with me.”

I wanted to squirm under the scrutiny I could feel running over my body. A few feathers twitched along my neck, and I breathed as evenly as I could. I could control most of my physical reactions by now... but I had no idea how to control feathers I had only worn for half an hour.

Finally Snape clicked his fingers, and I sat up, watching for our instructions. He bade us stand, and we followed him through the door and into a whole different section of the Castle.

It was noisy. All around me I could hear the clanks of glass, the crackle of flames. My nose burned at the smell of some unfamiliar combination of chemicals. The bird-eyes I had could see much better peripheral vision, and I found myself shocked by what I saw.

This room was a huge laboratory. Long stands of workbenches lined the walls, and more were strung in rows between them. Every dozen feet there was a small fire, and a barefooted wizard or witch in green stood, stirring or chopping or making notes.

We walked on, and I could hear Hermione sniffing behind me as we passed stations awash with the sharpbitter stink of Polyjuice. A few of the potion makers turned as Snape passed, and made a short bow touching a closed fist to their nose as they did so. Snape nodded at them, and led us out toward the open end of the room. He moved to rest his hands on the long balcony rail, and motioned us to join him.

“My laboratory,” he said, sweeping his hand out to encompass the space below.

The entire floor below us was a sea of people. Potion stations could be seen as people moved about, bubbling and brewing. Hundreds of people, all in the knee length green robes stamped with a crow in flight over the breast, milled below, their voices a soft roar floating up on the currents of hot air. Some of the cauldrons sent odd colored smoke flowing up the walls, stained in swirling, muddy patterns. Among the workers moved the taller man-like Coraxis, collecting filled flasks and checking off things on clipboards.

I turned to Snape, biting my lip… or trying to. Instead, my beak made a clattering, chittering noise. He was leaning on the rail, one eyebrow cocked, as he watched our reactions. Of course, I thought, Voldemort’s personal Potion Master, of course he’s got the biggest potion laboratory in the world. I shook my head mutely, wishing I could ask questions.

Next to me, Hermione leaned over the rail, head twitching back and forth, looking at each station. Cataloguing everything. Just beyond her, Ron was looking with almost as much intensity, eyes flicking from one group of people to another, his hands fisted on the rail.

Snape snapped us back into position, and we followed him down the long stair at the edge of the room. The marble chilled my feet, and I could feel the groove worn by thousands of Hogwarts students. I had walked these stairs, once upon a time... I trailed my hands down the banister, following Snape’s lead, and felt the smoothed stone. My fingers had touched this place, back when I was younger, back when the world made sense and I had a life. Now I trailed, mute and anonymous, behind a man I once thought of as an ally. Hated, to be sure, but an ally.

I growled, fingers raking the rail as the familiar anger built. This was a path I had been down many times, this cycle of remembrance and anger, and it usually ended with me deliberately flouting one of his rules, breaking or fighting or just glaring at Snape when I was ordered to drop his eyes. The growl escaped my beak as a long clacking sound, barely audible. Behind me, Hermione ‘stumbled’ into my shoulder, her hand flashing into my eye line.

Don’t. Calm down.

I snapped at her hand, the crack echoing off the marble and causing Snape to stop suddenly. I glared at his back, hands fisted. I could see that several people in the laboratory were watching us.

He turned his head, his eyes stony. His body turned to follow his head, and by the time he was facing me, I was panting, anger boiling so close to the surface that I was moments from launching myself at him. My legs tensed, ready.

He reached out and touched my feathered throat, and pain bloomed, spreading and burning through me. I screamed, the crow’s noise rising from my throat alien and horrifying. I scrambled backwards, crashing into Hermione, the bruising force of the stairs thudding into my back and legs barely registering in the maelstrom of pain radiating from my throat. Snape followed me, climbing the stairs with slow, deliberate steps.

I writhed, beak knocking against my arms, the stairs, Hermione’s restraining hands. I screamed again as Snape touched me once more, fanning the flames higher. I kicked out with my feet, catching Snape’s shin. He grunted, leaning closer.

I tried to bite him, realized I had a beak, and pecked at him instead. His slap caught me just under the eye, and the pain was so blindingly different that I pressed into it, gasping. It was a bruising thud amongst the sharp stabs of magical pain, and it felt wonderful. I relaxed onto the stair, body shuddering.

Snape’s hand closed on my throat, shutting off my air. My beak gaped, thin dry tongue lolling. I felt a touch on my feathered breast, and the magical pain dissipating as if it had never been.

I was caught by Snape’s black eyes, digging into my face. His hand slowly let up, and the air I drew into my lungs felt thin and cold. I blinked, the anger gone. Not controlled... just gone, as if it never was, burned off like thin morning fog by the flames of that pain. I was calm, body singing in the absence of hurt.

Snape straightened up, pulling me with him by the hand still loosely gripped around my throat. He waited until I was steady on my feet, then let go and turned away, continuing down the stairs as if we never had stopped.

I followed, hands tucked at my back again, eyes glued to his shoulders. The floor of the Laboratory was hot, warmed by hundreds of fires. We weaved among the workers, Snape stopping to correct somebody or ask a low question. Further in the room the stations were farther apart, and one or two had low walls around them. Down another set of stairs, and the room thinned, becoming a wide hallway. Here there fewer stations, each with bookshelves and sinks, chairs tucked under the workbench.

Snape stopped us, and ordered us to our knees with a motion of his hand. I dropped immediately, mind still fuzzy after the scene on the stair. Snape moved between Ron and I, and set his hand on Ron’s bent head. A sound, of pattering feet, and I could feel somebody standing in front of us.

“Ah. There you are,” Snape said, tightening his hand on Ron’s head. “How is it coming?”

“We’ve got two of the vectors isolated...” said a familiar voice.

“...but there is an unknown factor we’ve not dealt with before,” finished the second.

I blinked, feeling Ron go rigid next to me. Snape’s hand tightened further. I twitched my head to the side, catching sight of two sets of identical feet, dusted with freckles and red hair.

“Hmmm. Have you tried using the base formulae in a different container? Copper perhaps?”

“Well, we ruled out the other base metals...”

The conversation went on, quickly escalating past my knowledge of potions. The twins seemed content, working on their unknown potion. They didn’t look...abused, though their feet looked heavily calloused. And very, very pale. I rotated my odd head up, past the well mended green hems to the belted waists and finally their faces. They looked even more identical than I remembered. One was talking animatedly, and the other was holding a lump of … something… with a pair of gloves. The something smoked sluggishly. I looked down again, quickly, hoping Snape hadn’t seen the motion.

Snape was holding onto Ron with some difficulty, keeping his head down despite Ron’s attempts to look up. Ron was making choking, clacking noises, feet thumping the ground.

One of the twins stopped mid sentence. “Um... sir? One of your... pets seems to be having a problem.”

“I see that, Mr. Weasley.”

Snape pulled Ron’s head back, forcing him to meet the twin’s face. I watched as Ron devoured the sight of his brothers, and as the twins looked blankly at him.

No shock of recognition lit their eyes.

After a moment Ron’s shoulders dropped, and he sagged. Snape let go of his head, and he dropped it to his chest, black eyes blinking rapidly. I turned away, not wanting to see him cry.

Snape finished his conversation with the twins, keeping on hand on Ron’s shaking shoulder. Hermione and I were still, feeling Ron’s pain. Eventually Snape motioned at them to stand, and led them from the room.

The trip back to Snape’s rooms was quiet.

Snape had transfigured us back to normal as soon as we got back to his rooms, and pushed us toward our bunks, with the instruction to get what naps we could, as the rest of the afternoon wouldn’t be as pleasant. Despite myself, I slept deeply. I thought I heard Ron crying from time to time, but I didn’t lift my head. One thing I had learned in all of this is that when you have absolutely no privacy is when you need it most. We three knew more about each other now than we ever did... and less than ever.

Before, and that word was capitalized in my mind, Before, we would have gone to Ron, consoled him with words and touches and perhaps a game of Snap. He would have pretended that it didn’t bother him, maybe made some crack about the twin’s intellect... Now we left him to his grief; the only thing we could give him was privacy. Our relationship, once as close as we thought we could get, had changed. On one hand, we were closer… on the other, much, much farther away.

Masturbating in front of somebody will do that.

The first night we slept here, in Snape’s private chambers, in our little carved beds, he left us alone. Giving us time to grieve, I suppose. That was the first night we let each other cry without any attempts at consolation. The next day was our introduction to the hand shape commands, and hours of drilling on the positions. Then, to my personal horror, it was back to the kitchens for washing dishes. Joy.

Hermione had hoped that this meant that everything was going to go back to the way it was before Snape took our magic. I had hoped she was right, but doubted it. Why would Snape put us in his room if everything were going to be the same?

And it wasn’t.

That evening, after our first humiliating meal from his fingertips, and my first beating for disobeying him, we had a taste of things to come.

He put us on our beds with one of the hand commands, and verbally flayed us as we scrambled gracelessly for our cots. Then, in a move I would come to both anticipate and despise, he sat down behind his large desk, poured himself a drink, and very casually ordered us to wank.

Ron’s sputtered denial did not keep his hand from straying under his loincloth. The Geas of the contract would not let him disobey. Hermione, too, let her hand slip down to softly touch herself, though it was painfully obvious that she didn’t know what she was doing.

I went rock hard as soon as those darkly amused eyes locked on mine, and his pleasure in our discomfort made me grit my teeth. Anything that gave him pleasure I didn't want, no matter how good it felt. Smirking myself, I decided to show him he couldn’t humiliate me in this way.

I think I was more embarrassed at Hermione’s gasp and Ron’s indignant sputter than at the fact that I had flipped my loincloth out of the way and was viciously stroking my cock in front of Snape. The anger made it better, hotter, and I let out a theatrical moan, hoping, I supposed, to embarrass him by my little display. He just smirked at me, and the second dramatic moan stalled in my throat. My hand never stopped moving on my cock, but something was different…

I broke contact with his eyes, wrenching my head around, only to be caught by two pairs of shocked eyes. Ron’s hand was moving almost as fast as mine, and Hermione’s face was flushed as she fumbled under the cloth. Her nipples were hard, I saw, and the sight made me even harder.

The whole plan to make Snape uncomfortable faded as I ran my eyes over the two of them. Hermione looked ashamed and aroused, her lip caught between her teeth. Ron had that frantic, pinched look; he gulped air and stilled his hand, hips jerking a bit off the bed.

At that moment I realized a few things. One; that I maybe wasn’t as straight as I thought I was. Two; that maybe Ron wasn’t either. And three… Fuck three. All I wanted at that moment was to come, and come hard. I angled my body to get a better look at the both of them. Hermione, pushed back against her headboard, hand clenching on the pillow beside her as she sought to duplicate whatever Snape had done a few nights before. I could see the sweat beading on her upper lip, and watched, desire burning through me, as a drop made its way down her throat and across one breast. She looked down at the bed, then determinedly up at me, and brushed the droplet off, letting her hand linger.

The sight of her pale hand cupping her breast made me moan, and I heard an answering moan from Ron, on her other side. Her head whipped around to stare at him, and he gasped, hand flying out behind him as he came, jerking into his fist, face open and wet.

I groaned, watching him spasm. I was so close, and Hermione’s soft whimper at Ron’s orgasm made my hips jerk. I brought up my free hand to my mouth, pulling hard at my cock, and bit my palm, screaming as I came.

I collapsed back onto the bed, the come wetting my hand and sticking the silk to my skin, and panted. I heard Hermione whimper again, and managed to raise my head enough to see her with her legs spread, head back as her fingers moved frantically.

Just a moment more, I thought, a moment more and she’ll come, and it’ll be beautiful and hot and wonderful…

But the moment came and went, and a handful of other moments too, and still Hermione writhed on the bed, reaching for an orgasm she didn’t know how to give herself.

I propped myself up on one elbow and whispered to her. “Come on, you can come, come for me, Her-” and I stopped, remembering, suddenly, that we weren’t alone, and that breaking Snape’s rules was a Very Bad Thing. “Come on, Bili, come for us.”

She gasped, one leg trembling, but didn’t come.

On her other side, Ron had joined me in whispering hotly to her. An agonizing minute passed, my cock slowly rising the whole time, before she collapsed sideways with an unsatisfied wail.

Snape’s low chuckle made me grit my teeth. “Very nicely done… except for Bili, who apparently has failed an assignment for the first time in human history. We should break out the champagne…”

I resisted the urge to flip him the bird.

Hermione panted, curled into a ball. Her hips twitched restlessly. I was so hard.

Snape stood, his chair scraping across the smoothly polished floor. He positively oozed over to our beds, his smirk dark and promising. The sound his wand made as he slid it from his sleeve was sibilant.

“Well, we will just have to give you a tutor, then, shan’t we? Who shall it be? Taru, who has so little willpower that he shot within moments… or Modha, who took such pleasure in watching you both? They’re both hard enough for another go. Hmmm. Such a particular conundrum.” He tapped his lips with the tip of his wand, sending vaporous light up to tangle in his hair “Well. You’re in this together… may as well be in this… together.”

He made a small, complicated motion with his wand, muttering an incantation.

Instantly, my cock felt ten times harder, and desire burned through me. My hands dropped to the coverlet; what the hell had just happened? Through the rushing in my ears I could just barely hear Snape, who was pacing along the feet of our beds.

“…which has effectively linked your arousal. None of you will be able to achieve completion… unless all of you do. And with Bili being such a novice at this… well, I’m sure you’ll work it out. Now, technically, Modha and Taru have already fulfilled their obligation… they are not under orders to pleasure themselves… But Bili still has some homework. And none of us will sleep until she completes her assignment.”

Snape sat down again, pouring himself another shot of his slightly smoking liquor.

I panted, my cock so hard I was aching, drooling pre-come into my sticky loincloth. I raised my head, trying to see if Hermione and Ron were as affected as I was. Hermione was blinking, her hands fisting on the pillow, her hips moving restlessly. Ron had rolled all the way over and was grinding against the bed, his loincloth worked up over one tense buttock.

I moaned, low and long and reached a shaky hand to my cock. I was sure that I’d explode on first contact… but the trembling touch just made my cock jump into my hand. I gasped-

And so did Hermione and Ron.

I let my hand close loosely around my cock, teasing the skin with a light touch. I ached for more.

Ron suddenly flipped over and grabbed his cock roughly, squeezing down hard. I yelped; it felt just as if his hand overlaid mine, as if he had squeezed my cock instead of his. And fuck me if that thought didn’t make me harder.

I sat up, scooting till my back hit the cool wall of the corner my bed lay in. I pushed a pillow under my hips, angling so I could see both of them as well as I could. Across from me, Ron did the same. Modestly be damned; if I could feel his hand on my cock, and he could feel mine, then it was pointless to pretend it wasn’t happening.

I stroked once, hard, pinching my foreskin at the tip of my cock. Ron moaned, and I grinned at him. He half grinned back, and the game was on.

Hermione spread out on her bed between us, legs akimbo, hands clenched on the blanket. She looked debauched, swamped by sensation. Her shorn hair clung to her head in sweaty ringlets, and her hips twitched every time Ron or I completed a stroke. We were taking turns, getting a fast, syncopated rhythm going. This wasn’t going to take long.

I felt the orgasm build, boiling up from my balls, and bit my lip hard. The pain only sent a spike of bliss down my stomach, and Ron gave a long, gasping chuckle.

“Merlin, I don’t know what you just did, Mate, but do it again, will you?” he called, pumping his hips in time with his cock.

I grinned again, then brought my hand up to my mouth and bit down hard as I twisted on an upstroke.

We both howled, mine muffled by my fist, Ron’s starting deep and cracking into a higher register… and Hermione’s agonized wail building below and through our noise.

At that moment I knew I was going to come, was coming, had come- but I didn’t. The pleasure, the bright sharp waves of orgasm, washed through me, but I didn’t come. It felt as if I had been plunged into a pool of water after being in the desert, but did not get wet. So close to relief, but denied by whatever Snape had done.

I felt the same brightwash of pleasure from Ron, but I could tell by his whimper that he hadn’t come either. Hermione was sitting up, hands fisted so tight against her belly that the bones showed.

“Hermione,” I ground out. “You have to do it. Please, god please. Just touch yourself. I… we can’t- not without you.”

She shook her head. “I can’t!” she wailed, but one of her hands uncurled.

“Yes you can. Come on, please, just… remember the other night… remember how good it felt? Please… just… just slide that hand down, yes… and just do it!”

I had very little idea how to tell her to get herself off… but I had to try. I opened my mouth-

And near cracked my teeth as my jaw cracked shut at her first trembling touch to her wet flesh. It was… incredible. I was getting impressions from organs I knew I didn’t have, feeling wet and slippery and hot and empty. I pushed my fingers below my cock, into the space between my cock and balls, and rotated them hard, feeling her pleasure and Ron’s frustrated continual wank.

“‘Mione,” Ron croaked, “higher, higher… just... find your clit, up a bit… yesssss AH! No, don’t touch it… around it please god just… circle... yeah. Just… like that.”

My brain dissolved. Hermione’s pleasure was low and burning, not the sharp pleasure I was used to. Ron kept up the familiar pull pull pull motion, sending waves of pre-come dribbling from my cock head. I pulled my knees up, grinding the heel of my hand into my balls. I ached, as if my body was empty, and I clenched my stomach muscles, tilting my hips up.

We writhed for what seemed like forever; hips pumping and harsh voiced, chorusing. Every time Ron or I got close, Hermione would maddeningly stop that wonderful whatever she was doing, and we’d moan in mutual frustration. I thought my cock would snap, it was so hard, and my lips dried and cracked from my nonstop panting.

A sudden snap of sound, and then Snape was there, wrenching Hermione’s hands from her body and digging into her with his fingers, pinching at the hard little place and twisting her nipple.

We all screamed, my body arching off the bed as three orgasms slammed through me. I shot again and again and forever and was unconscious before my body had fallen back to the bed.

That was the first night.

The punishment in the morning for using Hermione’s real name kept us from sitting comfortably for three days.

Now, we were used to the nightly wank-sessions. It was routine, now. We were ordered to wank, and the three of us would get hard (or wet, in Hermione’s case) and get off in a matter of minutes. About once a week Snape would cast the sharing spell on us, and we would float on our shared pleasure for as long as we could. Inevitably, in that situation, Hermione’s stamina determined our eventual release. Snape had to ‘step in’ the first week, until Hermione could get herself off reliably. Sex, at least in this way, had become ordinary. Commonplace.

Our bodies had gotten used to the release of pressure before we slept, and even in my exhausted state, my cock was half hard, rubbing against my bed when I woke from my nap. I rubbed it absently as I rolled over, blinking at the early afternoon light sparkling on Snape’s potion shelf, on the array of bottles and jars. I heard a small choked sound, and turned; Ron was curled against his wall, the sunlight glittering off his tears the same way it did off the bottles. His hand was wrapped around his cock, and he pulled it slowly, letting the pleasure soothe the pain of his brother’s forgetfulness.

“Oh, Taru,” I murmured softly, and blinked as the words actually made noise. The muting spell was off. Ron turned to look at me, but didn’t stop his slow wanking.

“They forgot me,” he said, his voice thick from grief and disuse.

“They didn’t. You know they couldn’t recognize you like that.”

“They should have. George would have recognized Fred, no matter what he looked like.”

I had no really good way to answer that. I glanced away, to Hermione’s sleeping form. When I looked back, Ron let his head rest back against the wall, looking at me through lowered lids, lashes still spiky with tears.

“Hard?” he said.

I tipped my head at him. Despite all that had happened, we never talked about any sexual actions. My cock tented the front of my loincloth, clearly visible. “Yes.”

“Me too.”

His hand moved on his cock a bit faster. I watched him, feeling myself get harder. I pushed my loincloth out of the way, grasping myself lightly. I could feel his eyes on me, and took a deep breath. This felt… different. Snape wasn’t here, we weren’t doing this at his order… and somehow I knew we weren’t supposed to be, though Snape had never forbidden us to. I smiled at Ron, a kind of dark, secret sharing smile.

“We’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t we?” he said.

“Probably.” I cupped my balls with my other hand, spreading my knees a bit. “Do you care?”

“At this moment… no,” he said, and looked at me… really looked at me.

His eyes were full of pain and anger, and something else binding them together, swirled together and thrust toward me. He ate at me with his eyes, and I gasped, feeling as if we were much closer together, as if I could reach out and touch him. He looked… how I felt, and I groaned. “Please,” I said, and I didn’t know what I was asking him for… only that it be here and now and not about Snape or Hermione or this place or anything but the two of us, and this moment between us.

He caught his lip between his teeth, and that look slowly faded from his eyes as lust took over, and I felt my hand speed up in reaction to his. I spit hastily in my palm, slicking my cock with a moan of relief. He was muttering under his breath, head slowly rolling against the wall.

My orgasm was slow to build, pushing up at me in waves, and I let it, for once not having to rush, or being swamped by lust so strong I couldn’t take it. This was lotion on burned skin, water on a dry flowerbed. I squeezed my balls, rolling them up toward my body with the heel of my hand. Ron’s face was flushed, and he kept looking at my face… then my cock, and back again, as if he wished he could see both at once.

I came like soft rain, pattering against my stomach and thighs, the pleasure rolling through me like thunder. My moan was a stuttered thing, following after Ron’s lightning-sharp cry and jerk.

I sank down on my bed, cleaning up with a corner of my blanket. Ron’s breath was loud.

“Thanks, Mate,” he said, and I heard him getting under the covers again.

“No problem,” I think I muttered, dozing off again.


	3. Chapter 3

When the Coraxis woke us later, the light in the room had darkened into a soft glow. They roused all three of us, and hustled us off to the bathing chamber.

This was not the huge chamber we had seen the first night we were here, this was the smaller one that I believed was Snape’s personal. The same structure applied, though; the hot upper pool, with a larger middle pool for washing and a cold lower pool, meant for casual swimming. I couldn’t picture Snape doing anything casually, but there it was. The Coraxis took our loincloths, and pointed us to the upper pool. We went, gratefully sliding into the hot water.

The upper pool was just large enough for the three of us to fit comfortably in it, now that we’d lost some of our body modesty. My feet ended up tucked under Hermione’s bottom, with Ron’s long legs kind of akimbo over the bridge our legs made. A long soak was a luxury we didn’t get much, and one unsupervised, as far as I could tell, was unprecedented.

Our voices were the icing on a very nice cake, relatively speaking.

We settled into the bath to soak. A few long, blissfully relaxing moments later, Hermione glanced around and motioned us closer to her. I went, shooting a glance at Ron. He shrugged.

“What?” I asked her.

“I just thought we might like to talk, that’s all,” she said, but her eyes were troubled. I brushed a bit of dust of her still dry hair with a wet hand, and she bit her lip.

“What? We’ve had a sleep in, and now we’ve got a nice bath, and Snape’s nowhere around. For us, this is a damn day off,” Ron said, his face twisted in annoyance.

“Yes, but… well, I think that something is going to happen tonight. I think that maybe this is it.”

The water seemed even hotter when my stomach went very, very cold. Hermione’s voice made it clear that this was a big “i” it, as in this is It. “Tonight?”

She looked at me, rubbing my calf with one submerged hand. “Why else would he be changing the routine?”

“Variety?” Ron squeaked.

“When have you ever known him to like variety, Taru?”

I watched Hermione’s hands trailing in the water and sighed. “You really think something’s going to happen tonight?”

She nodded. “Nothing we can do about it, I suppose.”

“Well, there is, but I don’t think you’ll like it,” I said, “And I don’t know if it’s even a good idea.… well… I know that Snape has… plans for your virginity,” Here her lips pursed so hard together that they went white. “But… he’s not here. And we could… thwart those plans, if we wanted to.”

“You’re trying to get into my pants!” she said, pushing herself away from me.

“Bili, you’re not wearing pants. And you know he’s not,” Ron said, touching her arm.

She held the bunched position for a moment, then sighed and uncoiled, resting her feet on my hip. “I know he’s not. But… it won’t work.”

I blinked. “It won’t? Why not? How can you tell?”

I could see her blush, even with the flush of the hot water. “Because.”

“Because why, Bili?” Ron said, scratching at his wet hair. “Who’d you try it with? Not me, and H-… Modha wouldn’t have brought it up if it had been with him.”

“No, you prat,” she said, looking away. She looked younger, suddenly, her turned cheek vulnerable. “I tried to do it myself.”

“What?” Ron said, sitting forward.

“I said I tried to do it myself, alright? It didn’t work. The magic wouldn’t let me.” She scowled at the water. “I think it’s the contract. It did specifically say that Snape got our v-virginity.”

“That’s right, Bili,” Snape said, his voice startling me so bad I slipped sideways in the water, trying to jerk away from it. “And had either of the boys tried to do what you so valiantly failed at, they would have been in for a great surprise, one I’m sure they would not enjoy.” He smiled, all shark-white teeth in his sallow face. “But your fears are misplaced. I am not planning on taking any of your vaulted virginities this evening.”

Even though I knew not to trust him, that he hadn’t promised much, I relaxed a bit into the bath. At least one more day, then. Across from me, I could see Hermione’s shoulders slump in relief.

“However,” he said, walking around the pool to the far side, dipping his stained fingers into the water. I imagined I could see filth floating off of them, and the water seemed oily suddenly. “However, Bili is right in that this evening we will be moving on in our lessons. You seem to be as well versed as I need you to be in self-pleasure, even our class dunce here.” He rapped his knuckles lightly on Hermione’s bent head.

“The Coraxis will get your bodies ready. I suggest you work on your minds.” He left without another word, sweeping down the staircase with a rustle of fabric, his passing cutting a swath through the steam.

I gulped, sinking lower in the water. I didn’t want to know what Snape meant… but I knew I would eventually. There were an awful lot of things that could happen to one without losing one’s virginity. A glance at a scowling Ron and a silent Hermione confirmed my feelings.

This was going to be unpleasant.

Soon enough, and too soon altogether, a small group of Coraxis fetched us, pulling our slightly resisting bodies into the washing pool. We were scrubbed and brushed and trimmed and polished till I felt as if my skin were glowing and my teeth shone. The Coraxis, odd-looking when dry, were pathetic wet, and I spent a good deal of time making drowned rat comments to them in the hand language, with the particular little headtilt that told them I was joking. It kept my mind off of things to come. I don’t know if they laughed; hard to tell with bird-man-things.

They led us back to the main room, leaving us in a little knot, but never giving us back our loincloths. I felt exposed without the shred of cloth, though it covered almost nothing. I knew that we should go into the waiting position, but I didn’t move.

“Modha?” Hermione said softly, leaning into my side.

“Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m more than a bit apprehensive about this.”

I looked down at her; she was staring off into the distance, her shoulders hunched and one arm wrapped around her stomach. “I know, Bili. I’m scared too.”

Ron slipped an arm around each of us, resting his head against mine. He didn’t say anything, but his hands trembled, just a bit.

Snape found us like that, curled into a knot and sighed audibly. We sprang apart. He curled his hand, and we dropped into the waiting position.

“If I must make every thing an order, I shall, but for now I’d like you to try to remember to wait in the proper position. Down,” he said, flattening his hand, and I stretched forward, letting my hands take my weight before I flattened myself on the ground, forehead touching the cool stone. “Good. Now, stay there until I am ready. And don’t move. For incentive…” he rustled, and a tinkling, chiming shower of little bells hit us. The musical jangle was loud for a few seconds, then stilled as the tiny bells settled. “For every ring I hear, each of you receives a lick.”

I heard two bells jingle immediately, and fought not to move myself. Two already, and Snape hadn’t even turned around yet. He chuckled, and swept away. The bells I could see were tiny, little bitty things, the size of a dried pea, or a mouse’s eyeball. The breeze blowing in from the half open garden door moved them, causing them to roll slowly. I cursed to myself as a puff of air caused one to fall into a crack in the floor, chiming quietly.

Long, long moments followed. My right calf had been tense when the bells hit me, and I could feel the stress building as I tried to keep it that way. I could feel the tiny bells all over me, down my spine, in my hair… I could even feel them settled in the crack of my bum, and their presence tickled. Sweat broke out, prickling first in my armpits, then down my legs and across my back. One tiny bell was caught in a trickle of moisture and moved down my back, ringing as it went over each rib. I tried not to breathe.

Snape returned eventually, magicking the bells away and tisking at the number of bell-rings. “Twenty-six for each of you… Well, that can come later, after I do. Up now.”

My breath wheezed out of me, but I managed to push myself into a kneeling position. Snape was leaning on his desk, wearing his silk bathrobe, as he did every night, but tonight… Tonight it was open, showing a long expanse of pale skin broken by shadow, dusted with black hair. I made myself look at him, really look, and was almost giddy with relief that he had a pair of trousers on. He crossed one bare foot over the other, pausing, I assume, for our inspection. The sunset streaming in the windows made him seem less pale, deepening the shadows to black and glinting off the hairs. This was the first time I’d seen him in anything but a complete set of clothes.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice dark and thick, “We will move to the next level of your training. You are progressing nicely, in some ways,” and he snapped his fingers and twisted them up, and we stood, arms crossed at our necks, legs spread a shoulder width apart, “and not so well in others.” He walked around behind us, and I flinched away the second before he touched me. “Case in point. But I cannot spend all my time with you three. I have the Laboratory to run as well as the training of the other Discipulus, and I will not turn your training over to another until I am sure that you will not shame me. Therefore, we will go forward.

“Most Corvaticta come to me sullied, as far as their virginities are concerned, and so I have to admit I’ve rearranged my training schedule for you three.” He paused in his pacing behind Ron, moving close. “At this point in any other Corvaticta's training, you would be well versed on how to receive a man into your bodies.” Snape’s hands slid down Ron’s sides to grip his hips, and he pressed close to Ron’s back. Ron meeped, but didn’t move.

A soft movement against his backside made Ron snort air like a niffler, and Snape moved away, stroking Ron’s tense back with his hand. “But, of course, you three are different, and I’ve started your training with something a bit simpler.” He moved in front of Hermione, skimming his hands down her flesh until he was cupping her genitals, rubbing the palm of his hand into her mound. “Self -pleasure. Easy for some, not for others…”

He let her go, and came around to me, stopping and staring into my face. “And now we find ourselves here. Open, Modha.” His fingers touched my jaw, and I reluctantly opened my mouth.

He slid his thumb into my mouth and thrust it over my tongue a few times, letting me taste the salt of his skin. “Tonight I teach you how to suck cock. And tomorrow… Tomorrow we begin the process of ridding you of your pesky virginities.”

My mouth closed around him as I sucked in a shocked breath; the instant fear of his announcement that we would learn to suck cock tonight overshadowed the fear of actually having sex. With Snape. God. I felt my stomach tremble, and blinked at him. His eyes were dark, burning at me, and I found myself hardening inexplicably. Nowhere to hide it, either, without the loincloth.

Fear, I told myself again.

Liar, my mind whispered.

Snape began to glide his thumb back and fourth in my mouth, fucking my lips. I got harder. He smiled, trailing his other hand up my cheek. “Don’t worry, Modha, this won’t be anything you can’t do. You may even enjoy it,” he murmured.

He slid his thumb out, wiping the saliva across my cheek as he did so. “Down. Third position,” he said, and we sank to our knees, arms still clasped at our necks. He stepped back pulling up a low stool and settling himself on it.

“The rules, the pose, then the lesson,” he said, crossing his legs at the ankle. “You must know what you are getting into before you get into it. First rule: bite me, and you do not eat for a fortnight. And by you, I mean none of you eat. Clear?”

We nodded.

“Second rule: if, by some miracle, you make me come, you will swallow every bit I give you. You may retch afterward, if you must, but at the moment you will drink down every drop. Understood?”

We nodded again, but I made a face. He snickered. “I believe it is unlikely that you will achieve this feat, Modha, but your eagerness is noted. Perhaps I will endeavor to allow you the privilege of tasting me tonight, despite your efforts.

“Third rule: you will genuinely attempt to make me come. If you cannot do this with me, you will not be able to do this with anybody else here either, and you will be a useless commodity, quickly discarded. I’ve not spent this much time in you for you to be useless. To that end I have a spell that may help…” He murmured a charm, and I felt the swell of magic wash through me. “There. Now, whatever happens to my cock will also happen to yours. Metaphorically, of course. And, to prevent distraction, whoever is currently touching me will be immune to the sensations. Every touch you give to me, you also give to them. Should help you with your technique, as well, though you will feel but a fraction, a ghost of my pleasure. Conversely, if you bite me, you also bite your companions, though the pain will be magnified.

“Except for Bili, of course, who, lacking aforementioned equipment, will only feel the pain if one of you bite. She will have to do it without the return of pleasure, but her touches will go to both of you. I told you, girl, that you were not suited to this, but you insisted. Remember that.

“New position. Modified third; back to back, kneel so that your toes are overlapping in the center. No, you fools, in a circle. Better. Handshape is thus – “ he held up the two crossed fingers of the third position, and added another finger to touch them. We shifted, arranging ourselves under his direction. In this position, our elbows brushed and our toes overlapped; we were three points of a triangle, each facing outward. Snape corrected us until we were as he liked, and pronounced us in the proper position. “Good. Now, for this session, we are modifying this modification. Drop your arms to your sides. Modha, turn around and place yourself in the space between them. Bili, you may shift a few inches to give him room, but his shoulders are to be behind yours. Good.” He walked around behind us and grabbed Ron and Hermione’s inner hands and linked them in front of me. He then linked my hands to their outer hands. “This arrangement is called the Wall.”

He walked around us again, examining our pose.

He stopped in front of us, resting his hands on his hips. “Good. Now, for your lesson.”

He moved very close, standing so that his trouser legs brushed our knees. “You know enough about your own bodies to generally know what will feel good. Tonight is not about finesse, though you will learn that. This is about familiarity. Getting over the embarrassment and shame that I can even now see burning in your cheeks. Learning what a man tastes like… what he smells like… what he feels like in your mouth and on your tongue. You will eventually know how to please, how to touch and tease and deny, to swallow him down to the root and make him come, screaming in pleasure, to make him come begging back to House Corvus for more. But for now…”

He pressed forward, catching my head in his hand and grinding softly against my face. His pants were linen, smooth and scratchy, and I could feel the shape of him, hard against my cheek. I could smell him, musky and hot, through the cloth. I wanted to pull my face away, to wash out my nose and my eyes and my brain. He rubbed against my face, and I shut my eyes, swallowing convulsively. He pulled back slightly, and changed angle, rubbing against Hermione’s hair and cheek, and I gasped as I felt slight pressure and heat against my own cock. He pulled away again, and turned to grind Ron’s face into his length. I gasped again, my cock brushing Hermione’s hand.

Snape stepped back, his lips quirked as he looked down at us. One hand dropped to pluck the fastenings from his fly, and his pants gaped open. He lifted one eyebrow at our collective withdrawal, and reached in to remove his cock.

I slammed my eyes shut, ashamed at the spurt of anticipation that washed through me. The musky smell got stronger, and Ron’s hand tightened on mine. Without opening my eyes, I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb.

“Open, Taru. That’s it… wider. Yes. Stick out your tongue. Good. Hold still.” Ron was trembling, his hand clenching on mine. I didn’t open my eyes. The very tip of my cock was bathed in moisture, in heat, and I felt the rasp of a tongue on the underside, once, twice… a third time. I felt Snape’s hips moving as he stroked his cock over Ron’s tongue. I stuttered a moan, and gripped Ron’s hand. Then the heat was gone, and I pulled in a breath. If that was a fraction of what Snape was feeling… my god, any more than that that and I might have come.

“Open, Bili,” Snape said, and again I felt the tingling wetness, though the tongue seemed smaller… pointed instead of flat. Ron moaned this time too, and his fingers twitched in mine. After a moment’s confusion, I realized he was signing to me.

Tell me I didn’t just feel her tongue.

You did. I paused, breathing deeply. And I felt yours.

You alright with that?

I had nothing to say to that.

Our clandestine conversation was cut short when I felt Snape’s hand on my head. “Open, Modha. Tongue out,” he said, his voice cut with an edge to it. I paused just a moment, then opened my mouth. None of the normal wildness rose in me, and I was afraid.

I felt the light change just before he touched me, his great black robe blocking the last of the sunset from my eyes. His hand gripped my hair, and I felt a touch on my tongue. Salt, and musk, slickhot wetness rolled across my tongue as he stroked the head of his cock diagonally along my tongue. My mouth opened a bit wider as I tensed; my tongue had curled into that touch, not away from it, and I stifled my reactions as well as I could. I heard a sound like a chuckle, and then the taste was back, sliding towards my lips this time, up and up an I know he stopped with Ron and Hermione so I was in no way prepared for the first shocking touch of him against my lips, pushing slightly. “Open, Modha. More. Let me in,” Snape said, pushing against my lips again.

Ron was moaning softly to my left, and Hermione had figured out the hand thing, and was signing something to me, but I couldn’t make it out. Didn’t want to, really. I took a spastic breath, feeling the air slide in cool and sharp around Snape’s cock, and opened my mouth, feeling him slide past my dry lips and along my tongue.

Snape jerked. Ron squeaked next to me, and I moved my head, trying to get free of Snape’s grasp. His hand tightened further, pulling at the hair, and the pain made me harder. I pushed my hips against Hermione’s hand, and felt Ron shift so that both of their hands touched me. Snape pulled back, painting the wetness of his cock around my open mouth, then pushed back in again, a bit farther. “Good, good, Modha. Very good. Lips closed, yes, like that. Just let me…” and he pushed in harder, riding my face. My tongue rode along the bottom of his cock, and I pressed it hard, lips working. I almost felt like I was going to bite him, but... but I wasn’t. I pressed my tongue up again, imagining crushing him to the roof of my mouth. I felt his cock twitch.

He pulled away, and I opened my eyes. He was standing there, looking downward at me with a shocked expression that melted quickly into smugness. His chest rose and fell just slightly faster than normal. “Well, well, well… isn’t our little golden boy quite the cocksucker. Tell me, boy, is that truly your first time? Quite the talent, you have.”

I clenched my jaw. Bastard.

He stared at me for another moment, then turned to Ron. “Mouth open, you. In fact, all of you open mouthed, now.” He took turns, thrusting lightly into each of our mouths, pressing along our tongues and around our lips, tapping his cock gently against Ron’s cheek or hard against mine. Pleasure from Ron and Hermione’s mouthes skittered along my nerves, and their combined hands touching me didn’t help. Snape’s cock got harder, and wetter, and I could taste the difference when he had been in Hermione’s mouth, or Ron’s, and knew they could taste me on his cock as well. Snape seemed to be enjoying himself, giving us orders. His thrusts were deeper now, our sucking lips and teasing tongues trained by his words, and I could hear him panting quietly.

I felt as if I would come any second. Snape thrust through my lips again, and I opened, glad to have him there. I told myself it was because if he was violating my mouth, he wasn’t touching them, but the feel of him, hot and thick against my tongue, and the feel of Ron and Hermione’s hands twitching against my cock was phenomenal, stupendous, and I just wanted, at that moment, to come, and come hard.

A sudden twist, and Snape had both of his hands in my hair, pulling back until my eyes watered. “You were so eager to taste me earlier,” Snape hissed, “You seem to have a talent for this sort of thing, and so I’ve decided to reward you. Hold still, boy,” and he pushed in deep, really deep, and in one blinding moment I realized how much he had been holding back on us.

His thrusts were hard, choking me repeatedly as his hips slammed forward. My teeth sliced at my lips as I tried not to bite, tried to gasp in air around his battering cock. I lost contact with the hands I was supposed to be holding and brought my hands up to grip his arms; pushing him away or gripping for support, I didn’t think about. My entire world had narrowed down to the cock thrusting into my mouth and my hard cock dripping onto the hands that clasped so deliciously close.

Obscene wet sounds dribbled from my mouth like the drool spattering my chest, and I felt my eyes water at one particularly deep thrust. I moaned, and Snape made a strange little jerk, and that’s all the warning I had.

He came, bitter hot wetness flooding my mouth, and I gagged as he didn’t stop thrusting, forcing his come out of my lips to drip down my chin. I gagged again and again, and he moaned, pressing as deep as he could as the last of the come oozed from him. His hand stroked my throat.

“Swallow,” he said hoarsely. I shook my head, and he pulled his cock from my lips with a pop. His other hand slammed over my lips, keeping me from spitting the bitter liquid out. “Swallow,” he said again, pressing hard. I glared at him. He snarled back at me, hand moving so that he pinched my nose as well. “Swallow or drown on it, boy.”

What choice did I have?

I swallowed.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day I caught Ron staring at my lips.

Embarrassed, I looked away. My behavior the night before humiliated me, and I refused to talk to either of them after Snape had sent us to bed. He didn’t even let us wash up, just pointed to our beds and took himself off to change and left for wherever he went some evenings. I cleaned myself up as well as I could with the coverlet, red with embarrassment.

I was never so glad of the spell that kept us in bed once we had retired as I was that night. I had a horrible feeling that one of them would insist on talking about what happened. At least this way, with our voices silenced and my head turned from their signing, I could pretend nothing had happened.

Right.

I had slept only a little, dropping into a light dose only to wake with my fingers touching my bruised lips and my cock rubbing insistently at the blanket. At some point I had given up and stroked myself roughly to orgasm, scraping my hand hurtfully over my stubborn flesh. My pleasure was a joyless, painful thing, and I turned my head at the moment of climax to catch the wet gleam of two pairs of eyes watching me from their beds.

I shut out the sound of their pleasure as well as I could.

Morning brought no changes to our routine, and when Snape ordered me to kiss his foot, I bent and pressed my sore lips to his cold flesh without protest; my resistance to this seemed stupid now, and I couldn’t bear the thought of a beating this morning.

Not… not today. Not after last night.

I didn’t know if it was pride or sadness in Hermione’s eyes as I straightened up.

Breakfast was subdued; I ate from Snape’s fingers as the others did, eyes downcast as I replayed last night over and over in my mind. I worried the memory like a wound, picking at the half formed scab of rationalization until I felt bloodied all over again.

Snape sent us to bathe, and ushered us out to his private garden for our daily walk. He spent some time on our positions, the soft ground cool and kind to our knees, before leaving us to weed a flowerbed. He even left us gloves to keep the snapdragons from singeing or biting our fingers.

A muttered curse from Ron as one of them bit at his leg made us realize that he had left us our voices as well.

I felt a hand touch my arm, and hesitated before looking up at Hermione.

“Modha…are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Of course I am,” I said, ripping out a handful of weeds and throwing them onto the pile.

“Sure you are, mate, and I’m doing this for my health,” said Ron, stopping my hands from finding the next patch of weeds. “Slow down. Talk to us.”

“What’s to talk about?” I said, trying to hide my slightly panicked ire. “Leave it alone.”

“No. Are you hurt?” His hand reached for my face.

I jerked back, sitting up on my knees. “Leave it alone, Taru, or I swear I’ll pop you.”

He blinked at my tone, and reluctantly pulled his hand back. “Alright. I’m… I’m sorry. You just looked –”

“Destroyed. And… you didn’t fight back this morning,” Hermione finished. She chewed her lip for a moment, sharing a glance at Ron, and then back at me. “It’s just… I know it’s going to get worse from here… and if that was so bad for you… ”

“Then anything else is going to break me?” I wanted to hit her. “Say that again. Sit there and think that after Snape comes down your throat, Bili. After your lips are bruised. After you –”

“After she what, Modha?” Ron said, moving close to me with a few angry motions, his knee crushing a squealing snapdragon. “After Snape fucks her mouth? Wait, already done that.”

Hermione blushed and looked away, but Ron dragged her head around. “Our lips are bruised too, Modha. Just like yours. Yes, Snape c-came in your mouth, but you weren’t alone. We were there too. Or don’t you remember? You seemed pretty keen to ignore us last night.”

Now it was my turn to blush and stammer. “I, uh, you don’t-”

“Understand? Maybe not, mate, but at some point soon, every bloody last one of us is gonna lose our virginities to that bastard, and if we’re not in this together, than it’s damn well gonna destroy us. Destroy me. And if you’re determined to do this alone-” he turned away, grabbing a handful of perfectly good plants and yanking them from the ground.

Hermione glared at me and took the squealing snapdragon plant from Ron’s fingers, smoothing ravaged leaves and tucking the roots back into the ground. The flowers crooned and either nuzzled or bit at her fingers. She didn’t talk to me.

I chewed my lip, staring at Ron’s bent head, at Hermione’s stiff spine. We worked in silence the rest of the morning, never speaking, never making eye contact. I sunk deeper into my personal pit of misery, calling them all sorts of names in my mind… only to realize I was angrier with myself than at them, and that my silence was what was causing all of this.

Just as I spied Snape coming to collect us, his shadow huddled small under his shoes, I leaned into Ron’s shoulder, ducking my head against his sweaty flesh. He looked down at me, and, like the snapdragons, I was both filled with gratitude and pain. His hand rested briefly on my cheek, and I didn’t know whether to nuzzle or bite his fingers.

***

Another quick bath to get the dirt and sweat off and we were back in the main room, set to attention and waiting. Snape paced in front of us, his hands clasped and his outer robe open. Like the previous night, he had left his shirt off, and was clad only in a pair of linen trousers and his robe. I watched the pale arches of his feet, the flex and pull of the tendons under the thin skin. As if he had never been outside barefoot. It seemed easier to watch his feet than to look up at him.

“The trouble is,” Snape said, conversationally, “that I’ve never had this particular set of parameters to take into account before. As you may have noticed, not many of my Diciplus are female, and fewer still are virgins. I have five separate sets of virginities to dispose of, and my predicament is arranging them in the most advantageous way possible.” He stopped his pacing, his robe swirling to a stop, brushing my arm as he stood in front of Hermione. “Your virginity, your unique one, at least, has some magical uses. I could, if I was so inclined, auction it off to a high bidder, and just let somebody else dispose of it.”

I heard Hermione’s inhale, and shot my eyes to Snape’s face.

“Shh, Bili. I said I could. I did not say that was my intention. Rather, I believe I shall do it myself, and merely collect the base physical evidence as payment. Virgin’s FirstBlood fetches quite a pretty penny in certain potion circles.”

He moved again, sliding his hand into my hair and pulling my head back. “And you present the unique problem of having your active virginity intact. Bothersome. Who, then, shall you take? I could, of course, allow you to take one of your companion’s compatible virginities, but then I remove myself from the process entirely. Unacceptable. I shall think on it.”

He dropped my head, and I let it fall to my chest, hiding my blush. I found myself staring at my twitching loincloth. Pervert, I called myself harshly. They’re your friends.

And we’re all human.

Except maybe for Snape.

Snape cupped the side of Ron’s face, turning it into the light spilling from the window. “And you, you poor sod, have only your passive virginity left. Ah well…”

Snape spun on his heel and went to his desk, scratching a diagram out on a paper and muttering to himself. With his back turned we were able to converse, a bit.

Does ‘passive virginity?’ mean what I think it means? Ron signed, his face twisted.

I glanced at Hermione, and she blushed. I looked back at Ron, grimacing.

Well, hell, he signed, and picked at his fingernails, his cheeks pinking.

I wanted to comfort him, but I was too worried about what Snape was planning to get worked up over it. Or more worked up, anyway. Snape straightened suddenly, and we snapped back into position. He made a pleased noise; whether he had seen our quick movement, or if he was just satisfied with his work, I didn’t know.

“There,” he said, blowing across his parchment. “That will do. Subject to revision, of course.” He set the paper down, glancing at it as if to make sure he knew what it said. “I have decided on a compromise. As ridding you of all three of your passive virginities will take the most time, assuming I want you undamaged - I do - we will work on that concurrently with ridding Bili and Modha of their more… conventional virginities. Tonight we will take care of Bili, tomorrow Modha. And the third day we will finish with this business entirely, though it may be an busy day.” He glanced down at Hermione, who had gone pale and motionless.

I was torn between the elation that I had been spared one more day and the sick realization that Hermione had not. This was it. Tonight, then, would one of us fall beneath Snape’s hands. I almost wanted to take her place, to spare her the experience entirely. Almost.

Snape observed her for a moment, then carded his fingers through her short, curly hair. “Don’t panic now, Bili. You had your choice, remember? You chose this. Nothing to do about it now. You just have to do it, and move on.” His words, merciless and harsh to my ear, actually seemed to calm Hermione, who shut her eyes and seemed to gather herself, nodding slightly. Snape gave her hair a little tug, and stepped back.

“Good then. Now… to your benches, you three. I must gather supplies.” He was gone with another sweep of his robe, disappearing into the storage room near the bathroom door. I could hear him opening drawers and shifting jars around.

I stood, slowly, feeling the blood rush into my knees. Though I knew better than to try to talk, I went to Hermione and touched her shoulder. She turned her face into my knee and took a deep breath before grasping my hand and standing, giving me a resigned smile.

I’m all right, she signed. We knew this was coming. I’ll be all right.

I’ll be here, I said. As much as I can. As much as he lets me. You’re not alone. I slipped an arm around her shoulder.

I know that.

Ron touched her other shoulder, and she looked up at him. Besides, he signed, a blearily cheerful look on his face, it’s not like we won’t be in the same boat. Do I want to guess what he meant by ‘preparing’?

I made a face. Probably not.

Part of me was panicking. Part of me was completely freaking out, running for the door, or at the very least, picking up any one of the potentially dangerous items in the room to brain Snape when he came back in.

The other part of me, the part that bent and kissed Snape’s foot this morning, the part that kept playing last night over and over again, had somehow gained control of my body.

Run, I told myself desperately. Get out of here! There’s still time. You don’t have to do this.

Yes I do. The Geas. I have to do this.

Then why was a faint glimmer of guilt building in my belly? Guilt… and anticipation. I held Hermione a bit tighter, trying not to think about why I wasn’t fighting. What was coming felt huge… a giant, inescapable wave that I could feel building behind me, and running from it felt pointless and… wrong, somehow. As if drowning was the outcome I had been waiting, and to fight back now was… unthinkable. I took a deep breath.

Snape returned, clearing his throat and shooting us a glance when we were not in our benches. We pulled them out of their nook in the wall and pushed them to their marked places on the floor. These were of the same type we had sat in that first day in Snape’s office; the padded seat sloped forward, tipping your knees into a second pad, while your chest was supported by a third, thick pad. It actually was very comfortable… if you didn’t mind the fact that your arse was openly accessible. The entire point, I assumed.

I folded myself into my bench, crossing my arms on the dark green pad and resting my chin on them. Snape almost always bound our upper bodies to the pad, and I might as well make myself comfortable now.

Sure enough, I felt the very faint tingle wash through my neck as the immobilization spell took hold, and let out a breath of tension. My chest and arms were stuck fast to the bench. Surprisingly, my head was still free. I turned it to one side to see Hermione taking deep breaths with her eyes shut. On my other side, Ron was chewing his lip watching Snape light incense. I went back to looking out the window, watching a few crows fight over something on the top of the garden wall. Nothing to do now but wait.

Music swelled from the music box in the corner of the room. The beat was heavy, slow… I could feel it vibrating against my skin. I took a deep breath through my nose, incense smoke tickling up into my head. I sighed.

Snape set something down on a side table and moved to stand in front of us. He crossed his arms behind his back, staring at us for a long moment. “You wear the mark of House Corvus in the bands around your neck. At some point you will interact with other Houses, and other wizards. Not all of them will be as kind as I. Therefore we will prepare you to interact in such a way that you can fulfill your duties, and return relatively unscathed.

“To that end, you must be marked in another way. There are set spells that every Corvatica has access too, even those of you for who magic is no longer an option. I will set some of those spells tonight.”

Snape moved behind Ron, trailing his fingers across Ron’s lower back. Ron resolutely looked out the window “The set spells will be anchored here, accessible to both yourself and your clients. The tattoo has to be done by non-magical means, I’m afraid, as the marking magic would interfere with the spells. So before we begin with any other… tasks tonight, I will mark the three of you.”

Snape twitched his wand, and a low stool slid over for him to sit on. He picked up a pot of ink and a sharp-looking piece of bone. Snape unscrewed the pot and charmed it to stick to Ron’s upper back without tipping. Ron shut his eyes, drawing in a great lungful of air.

He jerked at the first touch of the needle, but Snape shushed him and stroked a hand across his back. After that Ron sat there, eyes shut, wincing every once in a while, but obviously trying to stay motionless.

The tattooing itself seemed to take forever. Snape would dip the needle and tap tap tap it with his wand, each tap causing it prick the skin of Ron’s back, drawing a thin black line across the pale skin. I couldn’t see the design very well; I had to crane my neck to see it at all.

Periodically Snape would wipe the excess ink off of Ron’s back with a cloth that was soon stained black and blood red. A word from Snape, and the pot of ink shimmered and changed colors, morphing into a gleaming gold. Snape cleaned the needle and started in again, filling and tracing and laying down swaths of color. The music somehow went with the rhythmic tapping. I lay my head on my arms, letting the music wash around me.

I must have dozed off, because I jerked awake when Snape set the pot of ink on my back. The glass bottom was still warm from Ron’s back, and I turned my head to see him curled into his bench, sleeping or hiding, I didn’t know. I gulped as I heard the tink of the needle.

Snape brushed his fingers across my back. “This will be nothing,” he murmured, “You’ve dealt with more hurt than this. Just relax. It will be over with soon.” I grunted silently, glancing at him over my shoulder. His eyes caught mine, black and shiny and intense. I blinked, and put my head back down on my arms.

The first touch of ink to my back didn’t hurt, it just felt cold. Very, very cold, cold burning on my skin before it seemed to sink icy teeth into my spine. I gasped and jerked, like Ron had, and Snape made an irritated noise.

“Be still.”

I squeezed my eyes together, feeling like the cold was streaming up my spine and flowing out my nose as I breathed out hard. So, so cold. Burning cold, white and blue and cracked behind my eyes. The cold point moved, spreading wings of frost out across my lower back and down to the base of my spine. A pause, and I sucked in a lungful of warm air, my fingers trembling against the leather of my bench. Snape’s fingers brushed over the frozen place on my back, and heat followed his fingers, melting the ice into liquid running down my back.

I breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a hiss as the skin continued to heat, going from icy to warm to fiery hot in the space of a minute. I heard Snape chuckle behind me, and then the tap tap taping began again, the frost of the needle chilling the fire wherever it touched. A moan escaped me, and I realized that at some point during his ministrations I had gotten hard.

I thumped my head onto my bound arms, angry with myself. The freezing point moved around and around on my back, ice followed by fire followed by ice. Each wave of sensation hardened me further, and the heat pulled slow drops of liquid from my cock as well as my back. I felt on edge, and yet my muscles were softening, melting into the heat and cold and touch across my back.

Snape leaned closer, his hair brushing my side. The shock of that feeling, so different than the heat or ice made me wheeze, and I threw my head backward, a long hiss boiling up out of my throat.

Snape chuckled again, pulling back and plucking the inkpot off of my back. He wiped the tattoo one last time with the cloth, and the heat burned through me. I whimpered.

“Shhh, Modha, there’s a good boy. What a greedy little thing you turned out to be. Be calm now, and wait. You’ll have a chance tonight.”

His fingers traced the hot swollen skin of my back, and I let my head hit the bench. The tattoo smoldered. I felt heavy, liquid, hot in my skin. The frost of the tattoo was only a memory; now it burned hotter and hotter, making me break out in sweat and pant against the bench.

Snape moved away, and I rolled my head to watch him set up behind Hermione. She turned to look at me as Snape struck the first line into her skin, and her eyes crinkled. I watched, blinking and lethargic, as Snape drew the design onto her back. I drifted in a haze of warmth and inertia, listening to the taps of the needle and the slow, heavy beat of the music. On her it seemed only a moment before Snape wiped the ink off and stood up.

I couldn’t even muster up enough energy to turn my head when Snape moved away, just kept staring at Hermione’s bent head, the way the light traced the curls. I thought, randomly, that she looked good with short hair…

Snape clapped, and we came to attention. Well, sort of. I still felt groggy, and Ron’s eyes were creased up with sleep. Hermione seemed alert enough. I blinked at her, feeling drugged.

“The tattoo will heal for a day before the other spells can be set into it,” Snape said. Other spells? I didn’t remember him setting any spells…. But Snape was still talking. I forced myself to pay attention.

“Now. Before when I wished to prepare the three of you I allowed you to feel what was being done to the others. That is not an option today, as the three of you are physiologically different. Therefore we have a different option.”

He waved his hand, and my vision darkened as his magic stole my sight. Out of all the things he could control, I hated this the most. I hated not being able to see where he was, where I was. I stilled immediately, head cocked, listening for his movements. I had become much better at knowing where something was by the sound of it. Snape had, at one point, deprived us of our sight for more than a day. By the time I felt the sunlight rising on my face the next morning, I could walk almost normally, and could bathe and garden and sort potion bottles by shape. But it was a miserable time, and I had welcomed the sight of Snape’s face when he had restored my vision. Even if I had to look at him, it was better than being blind.

Now, seated and still burning from the tattoo, the darkness blinding me was part comfort, part terror. I knew that, at least this time, even though I couldn’t see the monster, he could see me.

I heard him murmur a spell and tensed, but nothing touched me. I turned my head this way and that, trying to hear the whisper Snape’s robe made on the ground as he walked. There, to my left.

Nothing happened for a long time. I heard Ron breathing hard, and then long slow breaths as if he was trying to calm down. A sudden, sharp noise, like a hard exhale, and Snape said “Shhh. Relax, just relax…” and then a series of wet noises could be heard, just under Ron’s panting.

I tensed up so much my back spasmed, and I forced myself to relax.

Long moments later, I heard Snape stand, and all the relaxation flew out of my body.

The music played on. I heard Snape approach. My hands trembled on the bench. I jumped as a fingertip trailed down my shoulder. I heard him chuckle. Sudden warmth all down my back as large hands stroked down, the fingertips curling around my ribs. I shivered as the palms slipped over the tattoo.

Up, and down, and up again, the hands wrung goose bumps from my skin. Up again, and up, and up, and a hot palm wrapped itself around the back of my neck and forced my head down.

“Down,” Snape murmured, pressing until the binding spell took hold. I thumped my heels on the underside of the bench in protest, but all I got for my resistance was his fingers sliding up into my hair and gripping tight. The smell of the leather pad beneath my head rose up, sliding into my lungs to mix with the incense.

Arousal shot down my spine, stiffening my cock further. Shame rose in my chest, burning like his hand in my hair. Motion behind me, and I could feel the cloth of his robe pressed against my back and hips. The buttons of his trousers scratched against my sore skin, and I hissed.

His hand slid down out of my hair and around to my stomach, dipping into my navel. Sweat broke out on my skin, and my stomach clenched. His other hand crept along my arm until he could touch my clenched fist. His skin was hot, hotter than mine, and I felt a drop of sweat slip down my nose. He was wrapped around me, one arm tight around my waist, the other curled around my head and arms. He enveloped me. I could feel him breathing behind me, his chest rising against mine.

He breathed in, deeply, and I felt squashed between him and the bench. His hand pressed up on my stomach, and I breathed out to give myself more room. He stilled, holding me there, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe in.

Then his breath gusted against my neck, and I took in a great shuddering breath. Snape took another breath, and I breathed out. In, out, and after a moment I realized I was breathing in tandem with him, a long slow inhalation while he breathed out, then another slow exhalation. In, out.

The music swelled in time to our shared breath, and I wanted to fight it, to breathe when I wanted to, but his hands were insistent, and I shuddered, feeling lightheaded. I sagged against the bench, letting him set the pace.

He slowed us down until I thought I’d either pass out or fall asleep. My brain was swimming. “Good” he murmured into my hair, and slowly leaned back, cold air rushing into fill the gap his body left.

His hands returned, warm and slick, somehow dissolving my loincloth and rubbing from my back to my buttocks, soothing and warming the shivers from my skin. I rolled my head as best I could against the leather bench. I could feel his calluses catch on my skin, and wondered if he was leaving dirty fingerprints across my back.

The first touch of his fingertip between my buttocks caused me to yelp, and his other hand curled around my stomach, forcing me back into that slow, deep breathing. His fingertip traced the cleft of my ass, dipping down and in and in and I gasped. I tried to fight, to move away, but my brain was shutting down and my cock was hard and Snape suddenly pushed harder and his fingertip slid into me and it burned, it burned.

I panted, sweat rolling down my face now. The fingertip moved away, and returned cooler and slicker, pressing into me harder. Snape’s other hand held my hip steady as he pushed inside, and I wailed silently.

“You’re doing well, you little trollop. Just take it… that’s it, that’s my boy… take it.” His words broke against my back, dripping into my ears and worming their way down into my cock.

His finger pulled out again, returning to trace around my hole with more cold slickness. In again, and out, and then he twisted his hand as he pushed and pleasure shot though me. My cock jerked so hard the head brushed my clenched stomach muscles, and I moaned.

“That’s good, isn’t it? Yes, just like that.” His words made no sense, but his finger was moving in and out of me, pressing against that place inside me every so often, and I found myself trying to push into his finger.

His hand on my hip slid around to my buttocks, holding them apart as his finger slid out of me. I moaned, feeling the breeze on my exposed hole. I was open to the air, to his gaze, and I felt my face burn. I was so hard. A slight noise, and he slid his finger back in, cold, stiff, rigid and I moaned as I realized that it wasn’t his finger, it wasn’t. It was something else, something longer and colder and hard, and I yelped as it suddenly widened. Shivery pain raced up my spine, and I whined.

 

Snape pressed the heel of his hand against the thing and it shifted, pressing deeper. I opened my mouth to yell, but no sound came out. Another, harder press, and I thrashed my head. This hurt, and I was so hard. My feet beat on the bottom of the bench. He moved the thing inside me, back and forth, and I could feel the bumps and ridges of it moving inside me. I was on fire, impaled and burning. My eyes were wet, and I cried out against the leather beneath my lips.

A cool touch on my back as his hands pulled back, and the pressure eased. I sobbed wetly as the pain faded into an echo. The thing stayed inside me as he pulled away, but something soft and kind of tickly swung against my buttocks. I tried to breathe, but I was sobbing into the bench.

Snape touched my head, his fingertips dabbing in the tears. He moved away.

I cried for a while against the bench, twisting my toes and trying to get my breath under control.

I heard little through the rushing in my head. My arse was sore, pulsing around the intruder, and my cock felt bruised with trapped blood. It took a long time before the sharp edge of arousal faded, and it left me empty and tired, unfulfilled.

Snape moved back in front of me, muttering “Finite Incantatum.” My site faded back in, and I blinked against the light.

When I finally lifted my head, Snape was there with a glass of water. I sat up, wincing as the thing shifted inside me, and took the water without comment. I really wanted to be mad right now, but I was too tired. Snape paced back to his desk, leaning on it to observe us. Getting up the nerve to look at either of my friends took more energy than I thought I had left, but I found it somewhere.

Ron was clutching his own glass of water, trembling hard enough to slosh water over the rim of his glass. His eyes were shut. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking right at me, and I could see real fear in her eyes. Her lip looked swollen, and I could see a bead of blood form from the bitten flesh.

Snape cleared his throat softly, and we all looked at him. He stood, leaning against his desk, face bisected by the shadow of the windowpane. “You’ve had a moment to collect yourselves. If you’d follow me, we’ll finish today’s business.” He turned away, but stopped mid stride. Without turning his head he said, “And, if I were you two, I’d leave the tail alone.”

Tail? I scrambled off of the bench, feeling something heavy brush my calves as I caught my… something on the bench. Twisting around to look made my sore back scream, but the sight that greeted me made my mind scream, too.

A long black bird’s tail sprouted from my back, feathers beginning just where the swell of my arse started. I gasped, and the tail fluffed itself out. I looked at Ron in panic. Ron’s eyes were shut, and he had one hand clenched around a feather on his own tail. He gave a yank, and I saw him wince.

He looked up at me, black feather held in loose fingers. Tell me I don’t have a bird’s tail he signed.

I shrugged. Hermione signaled to us, and we both turned to her. She had no tail. We should go.

How come you didn’t get one, Ron signed indignantly, gesturing with the feather at her rump.

She looked at him, and that scared little girl look flitted across her features. It was chased away by a deep breath as she squared her shoulders, and then she turned and followed Snape from the room.

I smacked Ron’s shoulder as I passed him, catching up with Hermione in a few long steps. The tail had it’s own kind of balance, and I found myself walking on the balls of my feet to keep from falling over as it bounced. The thing inside me shifted as I moved.

He didn’t mean- I started, but Hermione stopped me.

I know, she signed, Look, this is going to be... unpleasant. I don’t want this, but at this point there is nothing I can do to stop it. She looked me in the face, finally, and her eyes were terrible, wet and anxious. She took a deep breath and her eyes hardened. Don’t let me give him a reason to humiliate me. Don’t let me fight him. Promise me.

I stared at her, confused and helpless and angry. Here was my friend going off to her… rape and she wanted me to help?

Promise me, she signed again, her hands moving jerkily.

I nodded at last, my neck so tight that the movement was more of a twitch.

She smiled tremulously and took one of my hands. Ron came weaving up to us, his tail giving him trouble. I steadied him with my other hand, which he held gratefully. Together we walked through the doorway Snape exited from.

There was a kind of hallway here, with the bathing room opening off one wall, and the storeroom on the other. At the end of the hall was a door that, up until this moment, had been closed to us. Now it stood ajar, and Snape stood in front of it.

He looked at our joined hands and the corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been a smile… or smirk. He pushed open the door fully and waved us inside.

We had to go through one at a time, and I went through first, mostly because Hermione had stumbled when she saw Snape, and Ron’s hand was slippery with cold sweat. No lights burned in the room, and I couldn’t see light from any curtained windows. I walked forward carefully, hands in front of me. I felt somebody bump into my tail, and hopped forward to give the others room. Snape shut the door behind him, and for a moment it was completely dark.

“Lumos.”

Light flared from Snape’s wand, and he lit the torches around the room with an idle word.

I blinked, stepping back into Hermione and mashing my tail painfully against her legs. We were in the chamber of the vindicta, where Snape had beaten me that first time. The benches were gone, and the terrifying wooden cross, but the cabinets around the room, the floor, the flickering torches… it was all the same.

Directly in front of us stood a huge four-poster bed draped in black. Gold stripes ringed the bedposts, and the thick black pillows had faint gold tracings that shimmered in the torchlight. Fat cords of black and gold held back the sheer curtains, and more cords dangled form the ornately carved headboard. I had a feeling that the carvings, of wolves and crows and twisted trees, had been crafted so that there were a hundred places to tie an unwilling victim.

Or a willing one, my brain whispered. I backed up.

Snape put his hand on Hermione’s back and pushed her toward the bed. She took a step, her hands fisting, before her courage seemed to fail her and she stopped, arms crossing over her chest. She looked at the ceiling instead of the bed, and I could see how wet her eyes were. Her lips were white.

Before I could go to her, Snape made an irritated noise and smacked her arse hard enough to knock her off balance. He pushed her shoulder as she stumbled forward, and she fell across the bed, hands scrabbling to push herself up. Snape shouldered his way around Ron and grabbed her hips, lifting and sliding her onto the bed. She kicked at him.

“Stop it, Bili,” he snapped, “This is worse than useless, it’s stupid and beneath you. Where’s your courage, girl? I thought that nothing could deter you. Isn’t that right? Didn’t you swear that you’d do anything to stay with the boys? This is not the behavior of someone who wishes to stay in my service…”

Hermione stilled, her face pressed to the bed quilt. I could see her hands clenching on the fabric, the knuckles white against the black of the fabric. Snape stroked her calves, his touch light. “That’s it, just calm down. Now, I want you to roll over. Yes, you can keep your eyes shut, if it helps. That’s it, calm and cool.”

Snape gestured to us, and we approached the bed. “She, unlike you, is doing this of her own free will,” he said quietly. “It shows a strength of character that you can’t begin to comprehend. I would suggest that you make this as easy on her as you possibly can. You can start by getting up on that bed so she won’t be alone. In fact, why don’t you curl in close to her, one on each side? For some bizarre reason she’s doing this for you two. The least you can do is comfort her.” He cuffed the side of my head, but the blow lacked sting.

Ron and I clambered onto the bed, tails and legs and quilt tangling until we figured out how to crawl with our new… appendages. Sliding carefully onto my belly, I curled onto Hermione’s side, resting my head on her shoulder and taking her hand in mine. Her skin was clammy, sticky. The smell of flowers that clung to her skin was soured by the sharp tang of sweat. I rested one hand on her ribcage, and she took a deep breath, opening her eyes just a bit to look at me.

I’m here. I signed to her.

She nodded, shutting her eyes again. The bed shifted, and I saw Ron settling down along her other side. I met his eyes over the pale white bridge of Hermione’s ribcage. He looked as scared as she did.

“What a picture you three make. White on white on black. I should have a portrait done.” Snape stood at the end of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking us or not, and I didn’t care. My mind felt thick, slow with the realization that This Was It. I put my head down again, resting it on Hermione’s side. I stroked her skin with my thumb.

Snape snorted and turned away. With his back to us he dropped his trousers, leaving him only in his loose black robe. He folded them carefully over a cabinet. I felt Hermione start to tremble as he turned back and whispered “Shhhh, shhh,” against her skin, my lips brushing and catching on the damp flesh. I shut my eyes as Snape’s weight shifted the bed, my hand tensing on Hermione’s.

A murmured word and the curtains loosed themselves from their ties and drifted shut, enclosing the bed. The firelight dimmed into a shadowy flicker, making me feel as if I was underwater. Snape’s hands floated into view, crawling up Hermione’s stomach like ice white crabs. I wanted to slap them away. Up they came, crawling higher and higher, passing my face to encircle her breasts, their sharp tips denting the soft flesh. I watched, feeling drugged.

Snape’s face rose from the shadow, looming over us, and his fingers pinched suddenly, causing Hermione to yelp. She pulled her hands from mine to try to pry his fingers away, but he caught her wrists in one large hand and pressed her arms over her head.

“Taru, Modha, hold her arms,” he said, and I did it, sliding up a bit and wrapping my arm along hers. I twined my fingers into her grasping hands. Ron followed suit, and I felt our fingers touch. I tucked my thumb over his, and together we held her hands.

Her eyes were shut tight; her brow furrowed so hard the line between them looked like a cut. Her chin quivered.

Snape moved his hands down again, petting her face, slipping his fingers along her neck and back down to her breasts. He played there, touching and stroking, pinching her nipples when they rose to his fingers. He pulled at them, stretching them away from her body, and she shuddered.

His head descended suddenly, his colorless lips engulfing her breast, his other hand still plucking and pulling. She squealed, her voice silent but the air escaping all the same, and I felt her back arch. I tensed, but held her arms still. Snape worried her breast, licking and nipping at it, his teeth leaving small red marks. I felt Hermione trying to kick him, and wrapped my leg around hers, stilling her the best I could.

The tip of her breast glistened in the shifting light when Snape pulled off and shifted to the other one. His fingers rolled the slick nipple back and forth gently, scratching his stained nails down the flesh. Hermione was panting, and I lifted my head just enough to catch the shining slide of a tear down her cheek.

Snape licked a path up her throat to her face, holding her face still when she tried to turn away. He licked at the tears that spilled over his fingertips. He ran a finger over her lips, pressing for entry, but she snapped at his finger and he jerked it away.

“Now, now,” he murmured, “No need to get rough.” He slid down the bed, his robe catching and riding up to pool around his arse. His legs looked too long, like pale bleached bone sunk into the blackness of the bed. He bit a line down her stomach, stopping to dip his tongue into her navel. She was shaking her head and trying to get her arms free, but I held on tight, whispering, “shhh, shhh,” over and over again into her skin.

Snape pushed her legs apart, his fingers sharp on my leg wrapped around hers. “Hold her,” he said, and I tightened my leg, keeping her splayed and open for him. His head moved down over her quim, his fingers digging in and holding her exposed to his mouth. He looked like a feeding animal, his head moving in time with her movements, her hips shifting back and forth and up and down. He pulled back, wetting a long finger in his mouth before attacking her again, his hand moving and his head moving and her hips churning. He growled into her, and she arched, her chest rising and falling as she screamed noiselessly.

She collapsed back onto the bed, her skin hot and slick. Snape rose over her, mouth shiny wet. His hands bent her legs up and out, and I cupped my hand behind her knee, supporting her. The back of her knee was damp.

Snape’s robe draped over his hips, blacking out the pale shape of Hermione’s body. His hair trailed down onto her chest like spilt ink. His mouth settled over her open one, and his hand slid between them.

I couldn’t breathe. I panted against Hermione’s skin, muscles tensed to the point of pain. This was it. I could feel Snape’s leg against mine, shifting and pulling back.

A murmured word, and suddenly Hermione was crying, moaning, deep in her throat, her voice freed from its magical fetters. He reared back, his black eyes glittering, and pushed into her.

She screamed.

He pushed into her harder, and words broke from her lips, no, and stop, and why, and please, and I was hard against her hip and my eyes were dripping onto her ribs. The bed shook as his hips pummeled her, the curtains billowing and rippling. The firelight danced wildly over our bodies. Her voice rose in a wail, her eyes shut and her mouth open, and I ground myself against her, shame and excitement and anger and fear boiling together in my stomach.

Snape’s hips slowed, and he leaned close again, catching her open mouth with his. I saw his tongue sliding into her mouth, fucking her as thoroughly with his tongue as he was with his cock. Her hand clenched suddenly on mine, and I saw that Snape had one hand around her neck, fingers splayed on the black ribbon. A shivery magic feeling rolled through me where I was pressed to her, and suddenly she was groaning, ripping her mouth from Snape’s to cry out. Her hips pumped in time to his thrusts, and her voice broke and roughened. Snape’s hips moved faster, his hand finding its way into her hair.

They moved in tandem, Snape’s breath getting louder as her cries rose, and I dropped my hand from her leg to stroke my aching cock. Her leg curled around Snape’s hip, a pale gold band on his black robe, pulling him into her faster and faster.

Hermione’s skin was so wet that my hand slid from hers, and it was a moment before I grabbed it again. My had flew on my cock, the brush of his robe against my balls as he moved was maddening. I pushed up into his robe, and my cock slid around the fold and suddenly touched flesh. Snape whipped his head around, his hand flying out to wrap around my throat. His eyes burned at me, and he pulled me up. My tail caught under Hermione’s leg, and the thing inside me jerked.

I came, helpless and terrified. I couldn’t breathe, and Hermione was crying out, and the world was painted in shifting lights and darks. Snape’s hand tightened further on my throat, and I spazamed again, something that was – and was not – pleasure ripping through me. Just as my sight began to dim he let go of me, throwing me backwards and pushing himself over Hermione once more. His hips moved frantically, Hermione yelping more than moaning now, and then he threw back his head and hissed, air stuttering through his teeth. Hermione went silent, back arched and shaking.

Then it was over.

Hermione collapsed back onto the bed, panting wildly. Snape lowered his head to rest it on her ribcage, his hair shifting as he tried to catch his wind. I couldn’t see Ron. I curled my knees into my chest, still shaking from the orgasm and the adrenalin that pumped though me.

Silence slowly stole over the bed.

Eventually, Snape lifted his head and moved off Hermione, causing her to gasp a little. A word and the curtains rose and folded themselves back, the gold ties slithering into knots. The bright light fell across my face, and I winced. Snape rose and turned away, slipping his trousers. He left us on the bed, crossed to a cabinet that held a pitcher of water and a basin, and washed his hands and face.

Next to me, Hermione was sprawled where he left her, her arms draped over her face. I could smell her, sweat and sweet and musk, and I could smell myself, the seed I had spilled on Hermione’s hip and the bed. I felt sick suddenly, and pulled father away from her still form.

She had asked for my help and I had all but attacked her myself. My stomach roiled. I tried to roll over, but my tail got in the way and the thing shifted inside of me. I yelped as a tremor shook me. Unbelievably, my cock, which had almost completely subsided, gave a twitch.

Hermione’s arms dropped at the yelp, and she turned her head to stare at me. Her cheeks were mottled red and white, and her eyelashes were spiky with tears. She looked at me for a long moment before her hand twitched.

Are you alright?

I fought back sick laughter.

Shouldn’t I be asking you that?

She shrugged.

Taru’s not this upset, and he came, too.

What? I pushed myself up, looking over at Ron. He was slumped over, head resting on the arm still extended over his head. His chest rose and fell evenly, and I realized he was asleep. His other hand curled loosely against his stomach. His fingers were damp.

Snape swept into my view, and I turned to look at him. He looked as if nothing had happened at all, his trousers neatly creased, his robe unwrinkled. Even his hair was smoothed down.

“Modha, Taru, get up. On my desk you will each find a stack of papers and a quill. Neatly, if you please, fill out the log book accompanying each stack. I will be… engaged the rest of the evening. The Coraxis will bring you food, and I expect you to be done by the time I return.”

We stared at him.

“What are you waiting for, a carriage? Go. Merlin, is he asleep? Wake up, you lazy sot!” Snape struck Ron’s thigh, and he sat up with a yelp.

I looked at Hermione, laying there, pale and composed. She met my eyes. Go, her look said. I shivered a bit, but climbed off the bed. Ron followed me, groggy and confused. As I made my way to the door, he caught my arm.

What about her? He signed, motioning back toward the bed.

I shrugged, looking back. Snape stood, one hand braced on the bedpost, staring at Hermione. Her eyes were closed, and I thought I could see tears on her cheek. I turned away, wrapping my arms around myself. The door swung shut behind us.

The stack of papers waiting on the desk was enormous. I went to sit in Snape’s chair, but the tail got in the way. “Damnit,” I muttered.

“Hey,” Ron said, “We can talk.” His eyes lit.

“Keep your voice down. I don’t know how much Snape can here from in there.” I glanced at the door, but it remained firmly shut.

“What are we doing? I mean, I guess I fell asleep. After, I mean.” He blushed, looking down at his hands.

“Yes you did. Gallant, that. Romantic to a fault, you are.”

“Hey! I didn’t see you bringing her roses. What was I supposed to do, clock Snape with a pillow?”

“You could have done something other than to fall asleep as if you were all shagged out. I imagine she feels pretty used, right now.”

His face had gone from blushing to ruddy all over. “Watch what you’re saying, mate. I wasn’t alone in that bed, and I if I remember, I wasn’t the only one having a wank.”

I flushed at this reminder. “Just shut up.” My voice broke, and my hands balled into fists. I glared at him.

“The hell I will. Where do you get off, accusing me? You were all over holding her down when that bastard said to. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d have fucked her yourself, if he gave you half a cha-”

My fist caught him just under the jaw, snapping his mouth shut. He rocked back, shocked, before launching a punch of his own. I whoofed as the air was driven out of me.

“You prick!” he said as he drew back his arm to hit me again. I sneered at him.

“Come on, then. You want to hit me, you feathered freak? Come on!” I was taunting him, saying horrible things, and the glee of it burned in my belly.

This time the strike came across my cheek, and lights bloomed behind my eye. Pain exploded across my face. I howled, grabbing his arm before he could hit me again and pulling him off balance. He hit the floor with a thud, knocking Snape’s chair over. I kicked it out of the way before launching myself at him, landing hard half across his body.

“Gerroff!” he gasped, his hands pushing hard at my head. I turned my head and bit his hand. “You’ve gone nutters!” he said, cuffing me soundly across one ear. I let go, only to grab him again, my fingers digging into his ribs.

We rolled on the ground like tomcats, spitting and hissing, using our feet and our fists and our teeth. For every blow I landed, he landed two. I gloried in every hit. At one point I ended up with a handful of his tailfeathers, and he kicked at the base of my spine in retaliation. His heel hit squarely on the thing inside me, and I cried out, bucking against his hip.

Which is when I realized I was hard as a rock, and about thirty seconds from coming.

He stopped dead, looking up at me with a dawning expression of understanding and horror. I was frozen by his expression.

“Is that it, then? You get off on this?” He narrowed his eyes when I didn’t say anything. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you said what you did. You want me to hit you!”

I was still hard, my cock leaking against his hip. Was that what I wanted? What the hell had I become? I looked away, gathering my arms under me to get up.

His hand was suddenly in my hair, wrenching my head back around. “Is that what you want?” he asked, his brow furrowed. I didn’t meet his eyes, but I didn’t say anything. “Is it?” he said again, his voice strident.

“Let go of me,” I said quietly.

“No. I want an answer. I want to know what the hell this is about.”

“I don’t know what this is about! Just let me up.”

Instead he slapped me. Shocked, I wrenched my head from his hand, leaving quite a few strands of hair in his fingers. “What the hell-”

He slapped me again, then rolled over so that I was crushed into the ground, my tail and the thing mashed painfully. His forearm went across my shoulders to hold me down. I was still hard, and he felt it. His eyes got darker.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he said, “but you can’t” slap “just” slap “hit people.”

My cheek burned. His blows were getting harder, and so was I. His next blow split my lip, and I moaned and relaxed under his hand. “Yessss,” I hissed, tipping my chin.

He hit me again, and I pushed my hips up to him. Each time his hand hit my face the knot in my belly loosened. I thrust up at him, and his on his next strike he left his hand on my throbbing cheek. His fingers dug lightly into the hot flesh, and my eyes slid shut. I pressed into his hand.

Ron was hard, too, his cock wet against my thigh. He pressed harder with his fingertips, and I slid a hand between us, shameless and thoughtless, and stroked my cock. My knuckles brushed his cock, and he shuttered.

I opened my eyes. “Again,” I said softly, and he lifted his hand from my cheek and slid up till his cock bumped my hand. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking us both as he hit me again. The knot in my stomach trembled and moved down to settle in my balls, and I panted.

It didn’t take long. A few more blows of his hand, and the feeling of him, hard and hot and wet against me, and I came, biting my spit lip. My hand squeezed down, come flowing between my fingers, and he trembled. He dropped the hand from my shoulders to grab my hand and pump it, moving his cock against my spasming one. I yelled, the sensation exquisite and overwhelming. He stiffened, jerking faster, and a drop of sweat fell from his nose to splash on my cheek.

He came, legs jerking as he emptied himself into my hand. I felt his come drip down onto my balls, and shivered.

He collapsed against me, breathing hard into my ear. His weight crushed the breath out of me, and I floated, content, for the moment, just to be.

Eventually he rose, making a face at the way our groins had become glued together. I sucked in a breath of air as he did so, and the heat from my cheek and lip suddenly intensified. “Ow,” I said, touching my cheek with the hand that wasn’t covered in come.

Ron made a face. “Should I say ‘sorry,’ or ‘you’re welcome,’” he said, his tone light, but his eyes worried.

“How about you help me up and not say anything,” I said, and he gave me a half grin and helped me to my feet.

“I need a bath. How about you?” he said, and I nodded. As we passed through the hallway, I glanced at the door. Still firmly shut.

The water was warm, and Ron didn’t try to talk to me, really. I still felt rather floaty, and the knot of guilt and panic hadn’t reformed in my stomach. Yet. He offered to wash my back, which I let him, and did the same for him. The healing skin around the tattoo on his back was too sensitive to touch. The design, now that I could see it, was, of course, a crow, wings outspread. A golden disk was superimposed on the body of the crow, with one quarter outlined in gold and black. Glancing behind me, I could just see the tips of the wings of my own tattoo. It looked the same as his. I could feel it, throbbing with my heartbeat. And there seemed to be a tingly spot right where the gold outline was on Ron’s tattoo. I looked closer at his; the outlined section wasn’t swollen like the rest of the tattoo. When I rubbed my finger lightly over it, Ron suddenly gasped and looked over his shoulder.

“Well, I know which spell he set in the tattoo,” he said. “At least I don’t have to go to the priv anymore.”

I wrinkled my nose.

We climbed from the bath and dried off. I figured out how to fluff my tail and shake the water out, though I cracked up when Ron did the same. Ron whistled at the color my cheek was turning.

“That’s quite a mark you’ve got, mate. Snape’s gonna notice that for sure.”

“You didn’t get out of that scrap unmarked yourself,” I said. “But by the time I wake up in the morning, my marks will be gone.”

He chewed his lip. “I’m gonna get in trouble, aren’t I? Well, screw him. Not like he said we couldn’t fight. Not specifically.” His nose wrinkled. “’Sides, what’s he gonna do to me? Hit me?”

“Maybe. But hell, I’ve already done that, right?” I flicked him with the corner of the towel.

“Right.”

But as we walked back from the bath, I snitched a clearly labeled bottle of bruise reducer from the shelf and slathered Ron and myself in it. Then we realized we stank of Elephant ear dew and Redcap powder, and quickly washed again.

By the time we actually sat down to do Snape’s bookkeeping, the sun was starting to sink. A Coraxis appeared with two bowls of mush, which we ate with gusto, even if it had no flavor to speak of. The bookkeeping was mind numbingly boring, transferring columns of numbers and totals from the various handwritings into his big leather bound book. After I completed each line, my blocky handwriting squiggled on the page, becoming Snape’s more elegant hand. At least the sums totaled themselves, though I had no idea what “59 S. frm H.D. to H.C.” meant, or why the numbers suddenly glowed green or red.

Ron had his own ledger book, and his brow was wrinkled in concentration as he wrote. This was like the most boring kind of homework, tedious and pointless, but not easy enough that I could let my mind drift. Sighing, I rubbed my already aching hand and went back to work.

When I finally finished, Ron was asleep across his book, ink smeared over his cheek. I woke him up, yawning, and sent him to his bed. He didn’t bother to clean his face before crawling between the covers. I checked to make sure Ron had finished his ledger, and closed the books.

When I crawled into bed, Snape had not returned.

Neither had Hermione.

It took me a long time to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione's bed was empty when I woke. I stared for a while at the unrumpled covers, feeling a bit of that rebellion build inside me. How could I have let all of this happen? What was I thinking yesterday? My stomach clenched. I needed to protect Hermione, not hold her down while that black bastard fuc-

"Modha? Would you like to join us, or are you going to sit there scowling at Bili's bed like the lackwit I have always know you to be?"

I snapped my eyes to Snape, lounging in his desk chair. He looked relaxed.

Of course, some little part of me whispered, he's been shagging all night. I bet that he hasn't had this much sex ever...

But of course he has; that's what he does now, isn't it? Have sex? Beat people? What about that huge potions lab, though? What is going on?

I crawled off my bed and kneeled next to Ron, who was completely still except for the twitching of his tail. My own tail didn't even bother me much this morning, and that fact disturbed the hell out of me.

I kissed Snape's foot when he proffered it, but I wasn't thinking about it. I was thinking about the potions lab, and gold and green balls, and the ledgers we had filled out last night.

"Open, Modha," Snape said, touching a bit of buttered bread to my lips. I opened them, accepting the morsel without protest. Snape arched an eyebrow at me, but said nothing. We ate in silence.

Near the end of the meal I heard a noise from Snape's bed. Ron and I turned our heads in unison, staring as Hermione slowly emerged from the black curtains. She looked ragged, exhausted... fragile, as if emerging from a cocoon. She stood, one arm clasped across her body, hand clutching her arm.

"Awake at last," Snape said. "Go along to the bath, we'll be with you shortly." She nodded, not looking at us, and turned away.

I gasped; her back was covered in long scratches, the skin angry, broken. Her steps faltered a bit when she heard me, but she didn't turn around.

Snape's hand on my chin burned as he turned my head to look at me. "Your turn today, boy," he said, very quietly, "I hope that you comport yourself with that much dignity when you wake from my bed." I glared at him, an angry retort rising to my lips. I bit it back; it wouldn't do me any good.

Snape just smirked at me, and then slid his hand into my hair and pulled me forward. His lips were inches from mine. "Not looking forward to it, boy? I can assure you, I am."

He let go, motioning Ron and I into Position 6; chest flat to the ground, knees tucked up under me. It was humiliating enough without the tail; with it I felt like a freak on display. The stone was cold on my chest. Snape moved behind me, and I tensed as I felt him squat down. His hand traced the tattoo, and I felt the cleansing spell fizz away inside me. I shifted. "Now, now, you better get used to that. Adapt or die, Modha." His hand slid down, tugging at the feathers. The thing shifted inside me, and I grunted. I was sore; the thing had been inside me for more than thirteen hours, and it felt bigger than it had before, stretching me uncomfortably.

"Sore are you?" he asked. I blinked; he sounded genially concerned. "Well, are you?"

"Uh... yeah," I said, not used to him actually wanting an answer to his question.

"Hmmm. Well, these need to come out for at least an hour, and you probably would drown trying to bathe in them..." I flushed at that. He was right. Last night Ron and I had damn near fallen over trying to get into the bathing pool with the tail in the way. "So I might as well remove it now." He touched the back of my neck, where the ribbon marred my skin, and I felt the feathered appendage disappear. His fingers, however, did not, and they slid down, touching the stretched skin around my hole. I tensed, and yelped as he roughly twisted the base of the thing. "Then again, if you'd rather I left it in, just keep tensing up. I should have known that you of all people would take to this. After all," he said, leaning close over my back, "you're the natural."

I blushed against the stone.

He told me to take a deep breath and relax, and I tried, I really did. But every time he touched the base of the thing I felt myself clench. He muttered to himself about stubborn boys damaging themselves, and summoned something from the potions rack. Some cool liquid dribbled down my arse, and Snape's fingers smoothed it in, twisting the thing impaling me back and forth. At first it hurt, aching and stinging, but the liquid eased the burn, and soon it was moving smoothly inside me. His other hand rested warmly on my back as he worked the thing, and I grimaced as the pain eased into something... more.

He leaned closer, his motions becoming more rhymthic, and I flushed as it finally occurred to me what he was doing. Stretching me, opening me up... so he could fuck me. Even now, he pushed the thing inside me, and I could imagine it was his cock, driving into me. I bit at my lip, only now realizing I was hardening slowly.

Snape chuckled somewhere behind me. "Did you know that when you blush, it races right down your back? Let me guess," he said, his hand slowing it's motion, "You just figured it out. Yes, boy. I'm getting you ready for my cock. I haven't gone to all of this trouble to make sure you're undamaged to undo it with one ill-timed fuck." He thrust the fake cock into me a bit roughly, and I gasped against the stone.

Next to me, Ron made a strangling noise.

"Don't tell me. You hadn't made the connection, had you, Taru? No matter. Your time will come. And," he said, leaning over me, whispering into my ear, "if I kept doing this, you'd come as well, wouldn't you, boy?" He changed the angle, and I jerked as pleasure flashed through me.

"As I thought." Snape gave one last thrust, then pulled it from me completely. I arched back to recapture it before I could stop myself, and Snape slipped his thumb into me. A startled moan stuttered from my lips, and I shifted my knees together, breaking position. He made an irritated noise and yanked his thumb from my body.

He roughly moved me back into place, his fingers slippery and hot against my thighs. "Stay still, boy," he said, his voice gravely. His thumb slipped back into me, testing against the walls of my arse, and I clenched my fists. God, I thought, this is too much, he can't expect me to just lie here and take this. I can't, I have to get up, fight him...

His thumb twisted, the pad catching on that place inside me, and I gasped, tightening down on him. I could feel the texture of his skin as he moved his thumb. I hardened all the way as he rubbed my lower back, his palm dry and warm.

"Shhh," he said lowly, "relax again. That's it. A bit more. There, there you go. Better. Doesn't that feel nice? Doesn't that make you hard, make you feel good? It's not all pain. It's not all bad, not bad at all, is it? Shall I let you come? I could, you know. I could touch you like this," he pressed his thumb firmly into me, and it felt wonderful, sharp and hot and god, he could. He could make me come like this. I shifted away from him, only to fall back into position as his hand moved to my hip.

"Would you like to move? I could let you, I suppose. I could let you shift back and forth, working yourself onto my hand, until you came on yourself like a green boy. How long has it been? You came last night, didn't you? So it's only been a few hours." His hand on my hip pushed me away, his thumb sliding free. My throat tightened around the whimper that wanted out.

He pulled me back, and pleasure washed through me again as his thumb sank back into me easily. My cock ached. I tensed my thighs. He pushed me away again, and I knew he would pull me back, pull me into that thumb, filling me and stretching me, fucking me.  
Rhythmic, slow, he worked me back and forth, the hand on my hip guiding me. I forgot why I wanted to fight, forgot Ron kneeling a few feet from my, forgot that I was a slave in a world gone mad.

I didn't forget it was Snape, though. Snape, making me feel like this, Snape making my stomach clench, my legs tremble. The thumb in my ass moved, twisting and pressing as I moved back and forth, and his other hand slid down to touch my balls, stroking the shivering skin. I threw backward my head, gasping loudly. His fingers left trails of painful heat, tightening the skin farther. I spread my thighs, arching my back without meaning to, barely aware that he wasn't forcing me back and forth now, that I was moving back into him, my hips pressing back harder and harder.

He cupped my balls, fingers light and teasing. I let my head fall back to the stone, panting. I grunted every time his thumb hit that place, snapping my hips now, near mindless. My cock felt swollen, sore, full to bursting. The air was cold on the wet tip, and it burned. One of my hands moved down, wanting only to touch it, to press some of the ache out of it.

"Don't you dare," Snape said, working his thumb hard. "Don't you dare touch that, boy. You lie there and take it, take exactly what I give you and nothing more, and be happy I'm allowing you pleasure at all. Some don't, you know. I could fuck you and then throw you away, a wet piece of trash to dispose of. This," he said, his thumb pulling all the way out and thrusting back in, hard, "this is because I like you little wretches. This is because I think that you have potential."

His hand left my balls to slide - finally - up my cock, the pleasure sharp and hard, and I moved my hips into his hand, moaning. No finesse now, now he jerked me hard and fast, and I spread my thighs further, pressing my balls into his moving forearm. I was so close.

"Come, you little piece of meat. Come in my hand, my thumb inside you, fucking you. Come like you want to, kneeling here before me. Come. Come."

I gasped, rocking on the edge, some hair of stubbornness holding me back. I wanted to come so badly, wanted the pressure and the ache and the burn to stop, to be put out by the rush of orgasm, but I couldn't. I whimpered, the sound escaping my painfully tight throat.

 

Snape made a noise, softly, his movements roughing, his thumb hooking so the hard tip it raked inside me. The pain was startling, blinding, and I yelled, coming hard into his hand, hips thrusting against him once, twice, and he pressed down with his thumb and up with the palm of his hand against my balls, and my vision whitened for a moment, another sharp jolt going though me, and my yell sharpened into a screech.

Then his hands were gone, pulled completely away, and my legs folded completely, leaving me shivering and wet on the stone floor.

I was very quiet when I eventually joined Ron and Hermione in the bathing room, the evidence of my betrayal glistening on my thighs.

***

Someone knocked softly at the door. I looked up briefly, then went back to grinding the beetles into powder. Beside me, Ron's hands stilled, and he craned his head around mine to see who had come in at Snape's prompting.

I looked up again. A boy stood in the doorway, head bowed respectfully. My hands kept the mortar and pestle going as I stared at him in shock. He was dressed as we were, which was to say he was nearly naked. His loincloth had a pattern along the edges, and the black line around his neck had a design, too. Along its rim were black feathers, covering his shoulders and chest like a mantle They, too, sat beneath the skin like some kind of tattoo. Over his heart, where the collar came to a point, a round disk of color was blazed on his golden skin.

His fist came up and touched his nose, the first knuckle brushing his forehead.

"Welcome, Axat. On time, as usual."

The boy lifted his head, and brushed his curly black hair back from his face. "Yes, sir. Punctuality is a virtue." He smiled, his teeth very white. "Somebody once told me that."

"Brat. Get in here," said Snape, and I turned to look at him. He had a smile just twitching at the edges of his lips. He also, of course, caught me looking at him, and his smile hardened. "Are you finished? No? Then get back to work."

I dropped my head and tried to concentrate as the boy moved into the room. As he passed me I risked another glance at him, and decided he was older than I had first believed, older than I, at least. Twenty, I thought.

From the corner of my eye I could just see him as he moved across the room. He went to one knee once he got to Snape, and touched his fist to his nose again. "Sir, it would make me incandescent with joy if you would use my given name..."

Snape's hand flitted briefly into view. "I suppose, Jericho, but I'll always think of you as Axat."

"And I always will be. But I am proud of my name."

"As well you should be. Training you was a joy and a privilege. Unlike these three."

Jericho stood and settled himself into the armchair next to Snape's desk. He put his feet together precisely, and they did not move from that moment on. I couldn't see any more of him than that, but I stared as well as I could.

Who was this man? Obviously one of Snape's slaves... but he had earned his name back? He wasn't being subjugated, or belittled. Snape was treating him almost as if he was an equal. My mind stuttered on the concept. There was actually a way out of the miserable position we found ourselves in?

"See? Back to work, Modha."

I scowled at the pestle, which I had stopped moving. I began grinding again, the rasp of the stone muting their conversation. I strained to hear them.

"Are they giving you trouble?"

"Not as such. They are... difficult by nature."

"I see. And they are..." his words were lost beneath the clatter of a Coraxis bringing tea.  
"Yes. You see my problem."

"Indeed. I assume that is why I am here?"

"Didn't I teach you never to assume? But in this case you are quite correct."

"Hmmm. May I pour tea?"

"You may."

No conversation for a while, and the noise of our grinding, chopping, and peeling filled my ears. I could hear the clink of china once in a while. We finished our assigned tasks, and set the new bottles of potion ingredients on their shelves. We took the utensils we had used to the washing station at the back of the room. While I scrubbed the pestle out with sand, I watched Snape and Jericho. They were facing away from us, talking low.

Jericho moved... oddly. As if his spine wasn't quite made of bone. He'd reach for the tea, and the way his arm and shoulder worked together was... disturbing. Ron nudged me, and I blinked.

You all right?

Yes, I signed, why?

Because you're staring at that bloke. Again.

Don't you think he's... odd?

I suppose. He's one of us, isn't he? Slave, I mean.

I think so.

Hermione's slender fingers slid into view as she leaned over to put away her knife. He's done with his training, she signed.

I blinked again, and a cold burn started up in my stomach. You mean that's what we're going to look like?

Not unless you grow six inches, Ron signed, and I elbowed him.

I would expect, Hermione signed, that his movement patterns are from his training, so yes, we might end up moving like him. And Snape treats him better than us, so I think maybe learning from him can't be that bad.

That brought Ron and I up short. Learn from him? Ron signed, his hand movements large. I grabbed his hands and brought them back down under the cover of the countertop. He and Hermione started up a furious, if discreet, argument over whether or not it would do us any good to try to imitate Jericho.

I looked back at the Snape and his... companion, sitting so comfortably on their chairs, and chewed my lip. Just then, Snape got up and left the room, going, I assumed from his direction, to the privy. Jericho had stood when Snape did, and now stood in what I recognized as the Wait position; hands clasped behind him, head bowed. I sucked in a breath; he looked unreal, as cool and natural in that position as if he had been carved in wood. He looked as if he could wait like that forever.

He must have heard my sharply drawn breath, for his head turned a fraction, and his eyes crinkled. And then, incredibly, his fingers twitched into life.

Naughty boy, he signed, and I gaped like a fish.

It honestly hadn't occurred to me that he might know the sign language. We learned it from the Coraxis; why should he be any different?

Oh god, if he knew it, did Snape?

My heart thudded against my ribs.

Hermione touched my arm, and I started violently. He... He knows! I signed, my hands trembling.

I thought so, she signed back. Then, where Jericho could see her, she signed, Will you tell?

No, he signed, It's our little secret. It's always been the slaves' little secret.

Snape came back in the room. Jericho didn't seem to move a muscle, but when I focused on him again, he was perfectly still, his Wait position flawless. Snape touched his shoulder as he went by, and said "Good boy. Now, go to the Vindicta, and wait for us."

Jericho touched his fist to his nose again, and strode off down the hall, his stride liquid.

"Are you three done yet? Or should I rent you out for your meticulous cleaning abilities instead of my current plan?"

I flushed lightly. We put the last things away, and went to him. He put us in the Wait position, and I found myself trying to do it as Jericho had, with as little movement as possible. Snape glanced us over... and then glanced at me again, his eyes narrowed. I tried not to move at all.

"Well then," he said, and his voice was smoky, dark. "I see that maybe you do have a modicum of sense. That, I must confess, is a relief."

He turned away and went to the door, calling for a Coraxis. When one came, he spoke to it in the clacking language for a good three minutes, and handed it a letter from his pocket. The Coraxis bobbed its head a few times.

"Bili, Taru, go with the Coraxis; you will be spending the evening assisting in the kitchens."

Ron shot me a look, and I looked away. Apparently I didn't get the dubious comfort of their eyes this evening. I didn't know if I was happy about this or not.

"Now, if you please."

They fell into place behind the Coraxis, and Snape stepped over to them. He pulled Hermione's head back and danced his fingers over her collar, and I watched as her head and neck sprouted feathers and a beak. Ron stiffened when Snape did the same to him, but didn't panic this time. "Pay attention, and do not embarrass me. I will be... occupied for the evening. When the Coraxis bring you back, you will bathe, and retire for the evening. Am I clear?"

They nodded, and I watched the light shine on Ron's glossy feathered head. The Coraxis led them away, and Hermione threw me one long look over her shoulder as they passed through the door.

Good luck, she signed.

I'd need it.

The door sounded terrible final when it clanged shut behind my friends.

Snape paused with his hand on the wood. If he had been me, I'd have said he was gathering his courage. As he was instead a snarky bastard with a fondness for making me feel dreadful, I knew he was just pausing to make me even more nervous. It worked entirely too well. I fidgeted where I stood, my palms wet with sweat.

He turned, and his lips stretched into a dark, evil type of smile. "So, boy, are you ready for this evening?"

I didn't know whether he wanted an answer or not. I thought it was safer to just stare straight ahead. He passed close to me, his hand skimming my shoulder.

This... was not what I was expecting. With Hermione, we all were together. I assumed... but then again, Snape had warned Jericho about assumption.

"Modha. I do not have an eternity to stand here, waiting for you to decide to do the thing you will do anyway. Move. Now."

Snape gestured at the hallway, and I swallowed hard. Turning toward him was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Somehow I got my feet moving, and then I was walking down the hall, Snape a step behind me, his fingers ghosting over my lower back. They were warm, and I felt gooseflesh crawl down my arms.

The door to the Vindicta stood open, golden light flickering out onto the ground. Unconsciously my steps took the rhythm of the low beat I could barely hear, and I was disturbed to discover I was walking in step with Snape by the time we entered the room.

I stopped dead. Behind me, Snape came to a halt as well, so close his robes brushed my calves. I felt as though I had been hexed, nailed to the spot with magic. I couldn't move, couldn't look away.

There stood the black and gold bed, the curtains tied back with fat black cords. The fire was lit, and some Middle Eastern music floated through the room. The air was thick with incense.

But none of that really registered. All I saw, all I was really aware of was Jericho.

He was kneeling on the bed, hands clasped behind his neck, his head bowed. The light played down his chest and legs, picking out the edges of his lean muscles. His cock stood hard between his spread thighs, the head shiny with moisture. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

"You see?" Snape said softly in my ear, "you see how he waits? Lovely and golden and completely controlled. That is your purpose, boy, that is what you will become." His hands came up and cupped my shoulders, hot against my shivering skin. "Oh yes. Someday you will wait like that, spread and hard, waiting for the touch of the one who owns you, if only for a night. And you will ache..."

His hands slid down my arms, nails catching lightly at the skin, "you will ache for that touch. You will pose there, a feast for the eyes, until it is time to be a feast for other appetites."

He guided me forward. I didn't feel my feet hit the floor, but I could feel the edge of the bed when my knees touched it. I shivered. This close I could smell him, a faint musk beneath the incense, and I could see the pulse beat in the hollow of his throat. A droplet of sweat gathered there, and slid down. I gulped.

"A good slave doesn't move until he is told to," Snape murmured, "And when he is told, he responds instantly. Jericho, attention."

Jericho slid to attention, his head coming up and his legs bracing. His black eyes locked onto Snape, but somehow just missed looking him in the eye. "See? See that? He doesn't disrespect me by looking me in the eye, as he has been taught. Respectful... and yet there are hints there, hints that he is indifferent to my words. Inflaming, is it not? A bit of insolence can be called for, to call to the master to take his pet in hand. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he is just being obedient. You can never be sure.

"Challenge is the greatest aphrodisiac." Snape pushed me onto the bed, folding my knees under me as if I had no will of my own. Indeed, at that moment all I wanted in the world was to stare at the body before me, his ease and grace, his indifference... his challenge.

Snape pulled my arms over my head, and before I knew it, I was bound to the post of the bed, my arms wrapped in what felt like yards of soft black cord. The suddenness of it broke the hold Jericho had over me, and I opened my mouth to protest-  
And shut it again, dropping my eyes to stare instead at Snape's left cheekbone. He paused, and then his lip lifted in a tiny smirk. His hand brushed down my face, cupping my chin. "You always did absorb the lessons you wanted to learn remarkably quickly," he said. "Perhaps this night will not be such a task after all."

He left me there, my chin cold where he let go of it, and turned to Jericho.

"So, you are the boy House Corvus has provided me tonight? One of the famed Corvatica. We shall see. What is your name, boy?"

Jericho said nothing, and I wondered if Snape had forgotten to give him his voice.

Snape's hand snapped out, catching Jericho's cheek. Jericho let the slap turn his head, and then returned it to the position it was before.

"Answer me, boy. Are you mute? Or stupid?" Snape's voice was cutting, loud... crude? He didn't sound like himself at all...

Another slap, this one hard enough to knock Jericho off balance slightly. He recovered in seconds. Snape hit him again, and he turned his cheek to receive the blow. I gaped at them. This wasn't what I expected at all! Somehow this... crude violence did not fit into what I imagined tonight was going to be at all. I cringed away as Snape's hand came up again.

The slap took me by surprise, burning across my cheek, and I realized I had turned my head away. I blinked back tears as my eyes watered.

"You will watch, boy," Snape said, his voice hissing over my skin, "You will watch, and you will learn. I have little time to suffer cowards."

I nodded, my face burning. I wanted to say something, but I didn't have anything to say. I shifted on the bed, drawing my knees into a more comfortable position. Snape narrowed his eyes at me, and I dropped my gaze again to his cheekbone, then let it slide away to where Jericho sat waiting. His eyebrow was cocked, and his posture, though technically perfect, somehow looked indolent.

But when Snape turned back to him, he was perfect again. Some subtle shift of his body, and he positively dripped subservience. I shifted too, trying to make my body as eloquent as his.

Snape tipped Jericho's head back, looking into his face. His cheek still bore a red handprint. Snape ran his thumb over it. "Such a good boy, obeying me even to the point of pain. You may speak. What is your name?"

"I am called Axat, my lord."

"Axat ... Well, then..." Snape slid down the bed, stretching himself out. He crossed his arms under his head, looking smug and self satisfied. "I have heard many great things about the Corvatica, boy. You should endeavor to entertain me. I've paid a lot of money to that bastard Snape for this evening, and I want my money's worth."

For a moment I was totally confused. Snape had paid... himself? Then all the little pieces came together in a flash; Snape was acting the part of one of the people he expected to rent us out to. A...customer.

I felt ill all of a sudden. I was being trained to be a whore, and here was my very first example of how whores were treated. I didn't look away, this time, but my distress must have shown on my face.

"Jericho," Snape said quietly, "Modha looks less than amused by our playacting. Perhaps you can explain things to him. I find I would like a drink, and have left the wine in the other room. I think it will take me at least five minutes to retrieve it."

Snape pushed himself up and left the room, and I was suddenly alone with Jericho.

He relaxed out of his posture and stretched briefly, then sat cross-legged against the headboard.

"You looked positively green there, kid. What happened?"

I looked at him suspiciously. Was I allowed to talk to him?

I can talk? I signed to him, my fingers twitching as much as they could above the bindings.

He chuckled. "Snape's given me five minutes to see if I can calm you down. I'm sure he won't mind if we talk. Unless you want me to calm you down in another way?"

He glanced down my body, lingering on my cock, which, despite my distress, was still half hard under my loincloth... and twitching under his eyes.

"No! I mean... no, talking is fine. I... What do you want to talk about?"

"You figured out the role Snape was playing... and you looked ill. What happened? When you walked in you looked fine. More than fine, even. Eager."

I blushed, thinking of the desire I had to stare at him moments ago.

"It's just... He was treating you like a whore," I said, my voice breaking on the last word.

Jericho tipped his head. "I am a whore," he said.

I looked away, my chest tight. "I don't want to be a whore," I said.

He moved closer to me. "Why is being a whore bad?" he said, "There is a lot worse things you can be in this place. Dead, for example."

"You're a slave, and you have sex with... whomever Snape tells you to, and you're okay with that?" I said incredulously. "You have no problem with that?"

"I did, once. But there's little I can do. We slaves are short on choices, you know. But I can tell you that being Corvatica is a huge improvement over some of the rest of the slaves. Corvatica are different."

"Different than who?"

He sighed and glanced at the door. "There are other Houses, other slaves," he said. "Each House has a specialty. Corvus's is not whores, I can tell you. The Corvatica are... a side business, as it were. The real whores are in Hystrix or Ovis, depending if you want fight in your whore or not. Dorcus sometimes allows its performers to be rented for the night, but they're picky. Draconus has no pleasure slaves. Acredula is too bound up in its books and research for sex, though I've heard tell of odd goings-on in there. The others I'm not entirely sure about; I don't have much contact with them. No, Corvus is mainly concerned with potions. Being Corvatica is something special."

"We're specialty whores? That makes it all right then, does it?"

He looked angry with this. "Makes it all right? It makes all the difference. Perhaps you are the fool Snape says you are."

"Jericho... I, I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you can be all right with this. How can you let him touch you, let him sell you? Don't you feel... demeaned? Don't you try to get away? Don't you... fight?"

"I used to fight," he said, and as he turned I saw the lattice of scars across his back, "I decided that survival was better than holding on to some sense of dignity that had no place in my world. You can't live off of dignity. You can't wrap it around you when you are cold, or put it in your mouth when you are hungry. And dignity doesn't stop people from hurting you. When I stopped fighting, House Hystrix had no more use for me. Thank God Snape saw something in me, or I'd be dead for sure."

"But... how can you be all right with knowing... letting people... I think I'd rather die."

"You were Gryffindor, weren't you?" At my nod, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "It's hard to explain. I would rather be alive than dead, personally. I have my limits, but allowing Snape to sell me isn't one of them. I am taken care of, fed, housed, and most of all, safe. That's what being Corvatica means, Modha. Being safe. Nobody can hurt you, not really. You are in charge of yourself, as much as anyone can be, here. Corvatica can choose their clients, or, rather, Snape chooses them, but he won't rent Corvatica to those he knows will damage them permanently. And being Corvatica has other advantages. It's all about supply and demand. We hold ourselves apart... and they give us whatever we demand. You have more freedom as Corvatica than most of the Death Eaters."

He looked toward the door again, and stretched his body up onto his knees, folding himself into the waiting position again. "Listen, Modha," he said, "there isn't much time. Learn what you can, as fast as you can. There is a reason for all of it, I swear. Don't stop fighting, but try to figure out why and what you are fighting. Snape won't make you do anything you can't do, but he will make you every single thing you can. He'll push, and push, and push... Just don't fight so hard that he ends up breaking you." I could hear Snape's footsteps, now, and Jericho folded his hands behind his neck. "He tries so hard not to break us."

I wanted to ask him more, to force him to tell me what he meant, to talk about what was going to happen tonight... But Snape was striding into the room, a flagon of wine in one hand, two glasses clinking in the other. I tried to still my body, wishing I could put my hands behind my neck, too.

Snape stopped, staring at us. "Yes, he is calmer. Thank you, Jericho. I think that our little demonstration is unnecessary now." He set the glasses and wine down on the bedside table and came to my side, tipping my head up. His eyes were very black. "Do you understand, now? I'm not the one you need to be fighting, Modha. I bend, I do not break. But some bends are harder than others, and some saplings will shatter rather then give." His brow furrowed, and he ran a finger across my neck, "I have no use for broken saplings, boy. They are discarded in a way most unpleasant for all involved. Especially if there are more than one in a grove. I'd hate for one fallen tree to bring down the rest of the stand. Do you understand?"

I gulped, and nodded. If I broke, if I couldn't get through this... Hermione and Ron wouldn't either. I had to be strong for them. Even if it meant giving up my dignity.

You can't save your friends with dignity.

I looked up at Snape, very deliberately, and nodded again. I felt calm and almost relaxed. Snape held my eyes for along time before nodding himself. "I think you do. Good." He pulled the cord from my wrist and guided my arms down, rubbing the sluggish circulation back into them. "Go to the head of the bed and wait. Jericho is going to show you what I will expect from you, when you become Corvatica."

I crawled to the headboard, resting my back on the carved wolves. They dug into my shoulders, and I pressed back a little harder. Snape spoke to Jericho quietly, touching his shoulder. I saw the edge of Snape's mouth twitch into a smile, and was surprised that it didn't seem mocking on him.

Snape shrugged off his robe, and Jericho took it from him, folding it over the back of a chair. Snape left his trousers on, but lay down on the bed, stretching out next to me face down. Jericho laced his fingers together and cracked them, the noise loud. He winced, shaking them out. Snape chuckled into the pillow. He raised his hand and flicked it, and the music swelled a bit louder.

Jericho grinned at me, climbing onto the bed. He steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost and swung a leg over Snape, straddling him, his weight resting on Snape's thighs. Snape grunted softly. "Hand me that, will you?" Jericho said to me quietly, and gestured at a round bottle on the bedside table. I reached over and snagged it, feeling its warmth through the glass. The bulbous bottom fit into my hand. Jericho smiled his thanks, snagging it and popping the cork out with his teeth.

He poured a bit onto his hand and handed me the bottle and the cork. I took them, sniffing at the cork before putting it back. It smelled faintly of almonds, or cherries, and made my lips tingle.

Jericho rubbed his hands together briefly, and ran them down Snape's shoulders, coating the long pale back with oil. He moved them up and down, fingers digging in here and there, finding all the spots that made Snape tense. I watched as he began in earnest, pressing and circling around the visible knots in under the skin. A few times Snape gasped, once he moaned low. Occasionally Jericho held out his hand for oil, and I poured it as carefully as I could.

The massage went on for a long time. Up the shoulders, into the neck, bared of greasy hair by Snape's impatient hand. Eventually Jericho climbed off Snape, settling next to him.

"More oil, please," he said, and I had to lean over Snape's body to give it to him. As I poured it, Snape shifted, and I splashed oil across my hand. I used my other hand to keep any of the oil from hitting Snape's back, and now both my hands were coated. Jericho looked at me and shrugged. "Do what I do," he said, and I nodded.

I set the bottle carefully on the table, and rubbed my hands together as Jericho had done. The oil had been warm in the bottle, now it was hot, slicking my hands pleasantly. I watched as Jericho picked up Snape's right hand, smoothing the oil along the palm and over the knuckles.

I looked down at Snape's hand, and then up at Jericho. Gulping, I reached for it, my fingers sliding over the arm before I could get my hand under it to pick it up. Snape turned his head toward me, but his eyes remained shut. I hesitated, and one eyebrow lifted.

"If you are being presumptuous enough to make the attempt, Modha, I suggest you get on with it," he said, never opening his eyes. His hand lay hot and heavy in mine, and I realized that I was touching him voluntarily for the first time.

Jericho coughed a bit to get my attention, and I leaned over to see his hands. He was using his thumbs to rub the oil in, much as he had done to Snape's back. My thumbs slid over the back of Snape's hand, feeling the hair prickle and spring up after my fingers. His skin was surprisingly soft, except for the places that were callused from long hours with a quill or a chopping knife. His nails had dark flecks embedded under them, and the oil became dingy when I rubbed over a spot of ink on his ring finger. Near the pad of the thumb I discovered a rough spot, and smoothed it over and over, memorizing the crease of skin there. It was a scar, I realized, a burn of some kind, and I turned his lax hand in mine, bending to look.

"Cauldrons can be hot,” Snape said suddenly, "and sometimes the end result is worth living with a bit of pain."

I had no response for that.

Jericho and I spent what seemed like a long time on his hands, moving up the arms slowly, rubbing the knots out of pale forearms. I shivered when my fingers got to the Dark Mark, printed there on the skin, sunk just below the surface much like my collar. I circled around it, leaving it a dry, dull spot on his otherwise gleaming arm.

Snape made a noise of contentment when I found a knot in the back of his arm. I lingered there, circling around the edges, pressing and smoothing as Jericho had done. He made another little sigh, half pain, half relief, and I pressed harder, focused on this one thing. I didn't feel like fighting right now, for now it was enough to be doing something that nobody asked me to do, nobody told me to do. I was doing this because I wanted to.

I decided that at some point in the last hour I had gone completely insane.

Snape shifted on the bed, and I looked up, shocked to find him nude, his trousers folded across a chair. Jericho sat near the end of the bed, rubbing his feet and calves.

I stared down the rangy body, thinking that at this angle Snape looked almost impossibly tall. Jericho seemed tiny, hunched there over Snape's calves, rubbing soothingly. I went back to the arm I was rubbing, sliding my hands up and around, over and over, my fingers half numb with pressure and yet tingling as the bumps and ridges of Snape's skin flowed beneath my fingertips. A portion of the map of his life, written here for my fingers to find.

Eventually Snape shifted, and I pulled my hands back, somewhat reluctantly. They felt cold without the friction of skin on skin. I stared down at my hands, curled in my lap. I could see Snape shifting next to me, but I didn't look up.

His fingertips caught me under the chin, tipping my head up. I glanced at him for a moment, then dropped my eyes to his lip. It seemed like a safer spot to stare.

"You seem to have some innate talent in massage. That is good. Very good." His thumb brushed my jaw. "Perhaps you could practice more on Jericho? I am as relaxed as I require."

I nodded mutely, sliding down the bed to where Jericho reclined. His skin was soft, much softer than Snape's, but it was bisected with countless scars, most too faint for me to see in the shifting firelight. My fingers found them though, tracing them down his back, his arms, the oil slick and hot, my hands burning. Jericho's tattoo was slightly different than mine, the bird slightly larger, the set spells glowing in its claws. I didn't touch it.

I felt Snape move behind me, guiding my hands. The tone of the massage changed, became more sensual, Snape curling my hands, running my short nails down the oily sides. Jericho moaned, arching his back, sleek and boneless as an eel. I felt myself hardening further, and wondered when I had gotten hard in the first place.

Snape was behind me, now, his bare chest pressed to my back, the smell from the oil flowing down from his shoulders to pool in my nose, and I inhaled deeply. Snape's hands guided mine, up and down and around, plucking at skin, stroking and soothing and scratching. Jericho writhed as I applied just a bit more pressure to a scratch than Snape had directed me to, and I saw faint pink lines come up. A stuttering moan broke into a gasp as Snape moved his hand away from mine, scratching harder at the smooth skin.

"You see?" Snape murmured into my ear, "You see how he moves? He, like you, enjoys a bit of pain with his pleasure." Snape's breath was hot, moist, and I shivered, stroking my hands across the four clear lines Snape's fingernails had carved.

I couldn't deny that I liked pain. Not after everything that had happened. I was startled to realize that I might not be the only one.

Snape turned Jericho over, and his eyes were closed. He was hard, and Snape's hand snapped out, raking his nails just below his belly. Jericho moaned again, moving his head.

"Touch him," Snape said, "as you would like to be touched. His body is yours, for now. Make it feel as good as you can."

What did that mean? Was Snape going to link our pleasure like he did with Ron, Hermione and I? I slid my still slick hands up his chest, my fingers skimming lightly over his nipples. His lips twitched into a faint smile. Though excitement burned through me, it was my own, not a reflection of his. I poured more oil onto him, watching it slide down his belly and fill his navel.

My fingers followed the glittering trail, dipping into his navel, spreading the oil with my palms until his chest gleamed. I touched his throat, feeling the moans that were too quiet to get by the barrier of his closed lips. I ran my fingers over his face, around his ears. I felt Snape move closer, one of his legs sliding beneath mine, and I shifted a bit so I wouldn't lose contact with Jericho. Another shift, this one as I moved my fingers back down to Jericho's chest, and suddenly I was in Snape's lap, one of his arms around my stomach. I paused, my fingers stilling near Jericho's nipples.

His hand slipped the knot from my loincloth. I tensed.

"Shhh," he said into my ear, "concentrate on him. See how hard he is. Your hands have done that, made him hard, made him pant. Touch him, boy."

His hand caught mine, pulling it up to Jericho's face. I trailed my fingers over his cheek. His mouth, open and shiny-wet in the flickering light, moved like an anemone, opening, closing, his tongue coming out to capture one of my fingers, curling around it and pulling it into the hot wet mouth. I gasped, my hand involuntarily clenching over his lips, his nose, cutting off his air. His teeth pressed against my finger, not hard enough to really hurt, but I moaned, my fingers loosening.

My other hand twitched on his chest, and I slid it over his nipple, the hardness there slipping across my oily palm. He moaned into my hand, and started to suck my finger, the softness slipping and touching and burning. I moaned again.

Snape moved his head against my back, his lips dragging across my skin. It felt like he smiled.

His hand slipped around my cock, and I gasped. His hand caught mine, pulling it down Jericho's stomach to his hard cock, curling my slippery hand around the flesh. I squeezed once, hard, feeling Jericho suck hard at my finger.

I was spread over him, one hand in his mouth, one stroking his hard cock, my head hanging forward. Snape held me firmly in his lap, his hand stroking me just as I stroked Jericho, his other hand wandering up to nudge at my mouth.

I sucked him in gratefully, feeling as if I was Jericho, as if I could feel my hand on my own cock, my finger in my own mouth. I pulled my finger out of Jericho's sucking mouth only to replace it with two, and felt Snape's fingers stretch my mouth as well. I bit at them, stroking hard at Jericho's... my... cock.

Snape's hand stilled around me, and I quieted my hand as well, breathing hard through my nose. Snape's hand tasted of sweat and the massage oil, slick and sweet against my tongue.

A shift, and Snape moved us, pulling me with him as he shifted to the head of the bed. His hands guided me as we turned Jericho over. His knees came up, raising his ass even as his head sunk to be cradled in his arms. His knees spread, and so did mine, my hips arching back against Snape.

His cock pressed against my ass. Snape handed me the bottle, and we poured a stream of oil down Jericho's ass, watching it as it trickled down, sliding around his balls to drip onto the bed. Snape took my hand in his, slicking one finger, guiding it up and down the slick split. I leaned forward, my chest half onto Jericho's body. Snape moved back.

I felt a trickle of oil wet my own ass, and a finger slide over my hole. I shivered, matching the movements.

My finger explored the edges of Jericho's hole, pressing lightly as I was pressed, circling around and dipping in. I felt Snape's other hand come to rest on my hip, and I braced Jericho the same way, knowing what was coming. I tensed, but Snape just circled again, and I matched his movements automatically.

His finger moved up, brushed over my tattoo, and I felt the spell fizz away inside me. I moved my hand up, brushing the same spot, and felt Jericho twitch under my hand. Snape's hand slid back down.

"Breathe, boy," he said softly, and I let out the breath I was holding. His finger pressed into me, and I pressed into Jericho, and all three of us moaned.

He was hot, hotter than his mouth, tight against my intrusion. I started to pull away, but Snape's hand was there, pressing me more firmly into him as he pressed firmly into me. I gasped.

A fresh dribble of oil wetted Jericho's skin, and my own a moment later. He pulled out, and I followed, my finger sliding into him easier.

Snape's other hand slid from my hip to my cock, softened somewhat from my distraction. I moved my hand and found Jericho as hard, if not harder. He thrust into my hand, and I felt my hips shift into Snape's hand as well. Snape chuckled against my back, his finger pressing further into me.

In, and out, and Jericho thrust against me, and I against Snape, and the burn was returning, filling my hips, gathering in my stomach. I thrust my finger into Jericho a bit harder, feeling for that place inside of him. I knew where it was... I had to know. Snape showed me, twisting his finger, brushing that place inside me. I gasped into Jericho's back, my finger finding it inside him, just a slight bump inside him. Snape rubbed me, I rubbed him, and I couldn't tell who was shuddering harder at this point.

Snape stopped stroking my cock, and I whimpered. It almost felt as if I had suddenly gone numb, and I pulled harder at Jericho's cock, needing that stimulation.

"Greedy boy," said Snape, and pulled his finger from me. "You're almost there, and wouldn't that be a shame." His hands pulled mine from Jericho's body, and I shivered.

Snape brushed his fingers over another part of Jericho's tattoo, and I saw the tension flow out of his back and buttocks. I wanted to touch him, to feel what had happened.

I was pushed and pulled upright, my knees planted between Jericho's. He looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes glazed, his face wet with sweat. He undulated, his ass brushing my hard cock, and I thrust against him.

"Not quite yet, my little slut. Not quite yet..." He pulled down on my balls, and the wave inside me backed off. I groaned, leaning my head back on Snape's shoulder. "Shhh, shhh, that's my boy. You're going to fuck him now, Modha, be inside him. Would you like that?"

I nodded, my hips pumping vainly at the air.

"And what happens to him, happens to you, isn't that right?"

I stilled for a moment, the reality of his words sinking in. If I took Jericho...

Snape would take me.

"It's up to you, Modha," he said, his tongue tracing along the edge of my ear. "You can do this now, with Jericho and I, or you can wait until tomorrow, and be taken next to your friends. Alone, or with them. It makes little difference in the long run," he said, his hand sliding up to tweak my nipple, "your only choice is whether they see you being taken that first time. And you're going to love it, aren't you? You were made for this, born for this. Do you want them to see you as you are now? Hard as stone, wet with sweat, your body aching to take, to be taken." His teeth scraped down my throat, and the pain made me clench. Oh god.

"Choose," he said, pushing me forward, setting the head of my cock against Jericho's loose hole. "Choose," he said, touching my collar, and I felt my hole relax slightly, the muscles loosing beyond my control. I felt the head of Snape's cock at my hole, huge and hard. I trembled. Jericho moved against me, his body lapping at my cock like waves on a shore. I burned.

This was insane. Too much to bear. I had held a picture in my mind of this moment, and it didn't include a writhing stranger under my hands. And it didn't include the desperate need clawing at me. I dropped my head onto Jericho's shoulder, trying not to lick at his collar.

"Choose," he said, and I sobbed, snatching at Jericho's hips with my still-oily fingers, thrusting hard inside him, feeling Snape follow me down, pressing me open with his cock, and I screamed, the heat around me and inside me and swallowing me down, and I was moving, thrusting hard into Jericho's willing body, and feeling Snape thrust hard into my willing body in return.

My knees gave out as my body arched back, the burn sharp and hard inside me, and my toes clenched hard. The pure bliss of being inside Jericho twisted up with the pain, the shuddering anticipated high of being taken by Snape, and I felt pinned between them like a bug to a board. I couldn't get my bearings.

Snape's hands steadied me, holding me still as he pushed, and I could feel him sliding deeper. I was already as deep inside Jericho as I could go, my hips pressed tight to his slick flesh. My cock was softening a little under the pressure. Snape's cock felt huge, sliding into me forever, and I tensed, unable to deal with the endless penetration, the pain overwhelming my desire -

Snape pulled back just a fraction, the blinding pressure easing. I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. My back unbowed beneath Snape's hands, and I collapsed against Jericho's back. My arms slid around him, feeling him panting hard under me.

There was a slight murmur above me, and Jericho's chest rumbled with a reply. I was too far gone to understand what was being said.

Snape pushed into me again, and Jericho did... something that made him clench down hard, and I gasped, the sudden resurgence of pleasure sharpened by the renewed pain. My cock hardened again inside Jericho. Snape pulled back again, and thrust harder, his hips finally hitting my backside. He paused, hands tracing down my back.

Oh god. He was inside me, all the way inside me, his cock holding me open just as mine held Jericho open. I shut my eyes, feeling the wetness gathered there spill. Snape, inside me. I clenched hard around him.

He gasped, his hands tightening on my hips. My lips twitched; as much as this was affecting me, it was affecting him, too.

He pulled slowly back, and I felt like he was dragging my insides out with him. I moved backwards with him, my eyes clenching tighter as I slid from Jericho's body entirely. A hand slid around me, pushing me back inside him as Snape pushed us forward, and I sank inside him again, the burn in my ass and the burn of pleasure mixing somewhere in my stomach. Snape thrust against me, and I thrust against Jericho, and my brain was shutting down as Snape's cock hit that place inside me, and Jericho's body trembled around me, and I couldn't seem to get enough air.

Faster now, as the pain sank under the pleasure, and I suddenly heard the music in the room again, punctuated by gasps and moans, and I couldn't tell who was making them. My throat felt raw.

Jericho shifted beneath me, and I fell slightly onto him, my hand slipping off his hips to brush his arm as he touched himself, his motions matching mine. I pushed harder into him, and heard twin gasps as Snape matched my rhythm. Jericho's arm sped up.

Snape pulled me back up, curling my hands around Jericho's shoulders, pulling him back onto me with each thrust. The little bit of my brain that had been holding back, trying to stay in control, liquefied. This was all I was, all I wanted to be at this moment. Penetrated and penetrator, raped and rapist. I was an extension of Snape as he fucked Jericho. I was an extension of Jericho as he was fucked by Snape. I was alone, fucking myself. The air seared my lungs as I sucked in a breath. I thrust as hard as I could into Jericho, pushing just as hard back into Snape as he thrust brutally into me. I bit at my lips, feeling something inside me break and fall away.

I shook, drops of sweat forming and sliding off of me as I burned, my hips churning, my rhythm Snape's, my body not my own. My fingers curled into claws, and I needed, I needed something, and I scratched at Jericho's back, my fingers cruel and hard, and felt a blaze of pain shoot down my back as Snape's longer nails ripped into me, and I was coming, hard, churning my hips out of rhythm, pounding and screaming and falling away into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

Asleep, Snape looked much less in command of... well, everything, really. A tiny line creased his brow, and his hand clenched and relaxed on his pillow, the fingertips brushing his cheek over and over. His hair stuck up in loops and whorls, snarled where the tie had come undone.

Undone. I felt undone. I shifted in the bed, my body sore, my mind spinning. I wasn't angry anymore, wasn't upset, or tense, or... anything. I was just... tired. Very tired.

I rolled over, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulder. Next to me, Jericho lay with his hands beneath his head, eyes closed. Splotches of purple and red covered his chest; marks of my teeth. I knew my torso carried the same marks from Snape's mouth. I reached out and traced a finger over the worst of them, a deep, near bleeding bruise on his chest, surrounding his nipple.

I did this. I bit and scratched and fucked this man, and he slept next to me peacefully. I would have attacked the person that did that to me. Or, at least, before last night I would have. Now my . . . my what? Less than a rapist, but not a lover. My . . . assailant. My assailant slept next to me, defenseless, and I did nothing. Perhaps Jericho felt as I did, and that's why he was sleeping.

Or not sleeping. He opened his eyes, looking down at me in the faint light creeping in around the curtains. "You still awake, Modha? You'd think we'd tired you out by now." He stretched, back arching as he moved. The sheet slid down a bit further, and I looked at him.

I knew I should look away, look at something else. I waited for the hot rush of shame to fill me and blinked in confusion when it didn't.

Jericho watched me, his face relaxed and open. I looked up at him, uncertain and almost afraid when the shame failed to appear.

He touched my cheek, and leaned into me, whispering into my ear. "Let's go catch a bath, eh? I'm a bit overripe. He lapped at my ear as he pulled back, and I shivered, gooseflesh rushing down my arms. I nodded.

We left Snape's bed silently. I could see Ron and Hermione huddled in their beds under the window, and prayed they wouldn't wake up.

The baths were hot, and Jericho slid into the highest one, his moan as the water covered him somehow more sexual than the noises he made while I fucked him. I kept silent as I slipped into the water, wincing when it hit the scratches on my back.

I refused to think about why I had to settle onto the bench gingerly.

I washed quietly, my mind buzzing blank. The sound of the water seemed loud in the dim light, somehow secret and forbidden. The water eased sore muscles, warmed cold flesh. I turned my back to Jericho, washing my inner thighs, the mess there slick, sticky and stubborn.

The water swirled around me as he moved, and I tried not to tense as he touched my shoulder. His hands slid down my wet skin, rubbing lightly. I didn't look at him.

"Still so reluctant. Still so unused to touch," he said, pouring a cupped handful of water over my skin. I ducked my head, tucking my hands up under my chin. "You'll have to get used to it, you know. No choice about that."

"No choice about any of it, is there?" I said bitterly into my hands.

He laughed softly, the sound echoing around the baths. "Of course there's a choice. You could kill yourself."

I turned quickly, water sloshing over the rim of the tub. "What?"

He stood, waist deep, still as if I startled him. He cocked his head. "You could kill yourself. Jump of the ledge, drink something from his potion stores, slit your wrists with his letter opener. He's given you that much freedom, at least. But you won't," he said, picking up the cloth and a bar of soap.

"How do you know I won't?" I said, crossing my arms. "Perhaps I will. Perhaps I'll jump right this moment."

The soap made soft noises as he moved it across the cloth. "I'm not calling you a coward. You won't because then those two would be alone. That's why you've done most of this."

I sagged; he was right. No use in arguing that point. "Most? All, I'd say."

"No, not all." His smile flashed bright for a moment. "You didn't fuck me for them."

Again, I waited for the shame that did not come. I sank back into the water and let him wash my back. No, I didn't fuck him for my friends, not the first time, or the second, nor that unbelievable third time, after we moved to Snape's bed, my cock so sore I nearly cried when Jericho took me into his mouth, but I hardened all the same. And I sucked Snape to hardness, too, the feel of his cock leaking into my mouth as mine was leaking into Jericho's was amazing. Snape lay back, and Jericho slid me onto Snape's cock before wrapping his legs around us both and fucking himself down on me savagely. I hardened at the thought, shifting in the warm bath.

Jericho slid his hands around me, his breath wet on the back of my neck. "Your breath gives you away, you know." His cock bumped my back as he thrust against me.

I swallowed the faint wisp of fear (we're going to get in trouble...), feeling it light a fire in my belly, and turned in his arms, my mouth hot and insistent on his. He made a little noise, a surprised squeak, and I ate it right out of his mouth, backing him up until his back hit the edge of the tub. His hands threaded into my hair, pulling gently, and I grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides as I sucked at his tongue, my fingers hard and punishing on his skin. He panted as I pulled back, and whatever he saw in my eyes brought dark amusement into his, because he squirmed out of my grasp and retreated to the other side of the tub, leaning on it provocatively.

"Come and get me then, Modha. If that's what you want..."

I growled at him, cock hard, fingers aching. I lunged, catching him up around the middle and spinning him around, pushing his torso, dripping wet, over the edge of the tub. My hand caught his hair and forced him higher. His feet lost purchase with the bottom, and he stilled. The ground seemed awfully far away.

"I could push you over," I said, my voice gravely. "I could, and tell Snape you jumped..."

He panted, and his body tight against mine. "You won't. You know you won't."

My body felt too big for my skin, like I would split open. I pinched his nipple hard, my chest aching.

"Modha?" He tried to turn his head, but my hand was too tight in his hair. I leaned in and bit the back of his neck, hard, and he went pliant beneath me, his arms sliding along the edges of the tub, his hips going all... wriggly against me.

I growled at him again, pulling him back until his feet hit the floor. His legs spread, and I let go of his nipple to guide my cock into him. The water eased the way, a bit, his hole still slick from the last few hours.

His body was hot, hotter than the bath, and I groaned, my legs spreading as I thrust. He clenched down around me, and I clenched as well, my body empty and longing. He felt so good, writhing against me, and I thrust into him again and again, my fingers pulling and pinching and scratching, my skin aching. I raked my nails down his already marked back, and arched back, wanting the pain for myself. I guided his hand onto his own cock, made him stroke, forcing his hand into our rhythm. I fucked him hard, harder than last night, punishing him for something, desperate and mean and wanting... wanting...

Snape, I realized, and the absent shame from this morning rose up in me, swamping my brain, and I came with a strangled whimper, feeling as if all the shame and anger and pain flooded out of me into him, and he took it, shaking with his own orgasm, and we sank into the water together.

By the time the sun finally found its way into the sky, Jericho and I were washed, dried, and ready for the day. He brushed my hair for a long time, and I let him, leaning into his lap as he ran the comb through my tangled hair.

 

* * *

When Snape emerged from his bed, we were waiting, kneeling in front of his desk as if it were any other day. He raised a brow, but said nothing. He waited for Ron and Hermione to wake, sipping his tea, idly writing in one of his books. My knees ached on the ground, and I pushed them harder, savoring the pain.

Next to me, Jericho seemed made of stone, still and implacable.

Behind me, Ron yawned. I didn't turn my head to see him get down off his bunk, didn't watch Hermione climb out of hers. I sat there, head bowed, waiting. Being a good little slave.

A Coraxis brought Snape's breakfast tray. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pick up a note accompanying the food. He opened it silently.

His teacup clattered to the desk, hot tea spattering my head. I didn't move. He stood, brushing tea off his robe, cursing under his breath. He sent the fluttering Coraxis off with a few words in their language, and motioned to Jericho to follow him to the other end of the room.

They talked quietly, Snape making occasional gestures at the three of us, Jericho nodding or shaking his head. Finally Snape nodded as if his head were very, very heavy, and sighed. He put his hand on Jericho's shoulder briefly, his fingers pale against Jericho's tan skin.

"Very well. So be it. You may go. Tell my steward that I will be along this afternoon to make arrangements. We have, what? Three weeks? It will have to do. Go now."

Jericho touched his fist to his nose in the salute of the House, and left. Snape returned to his desk, picked up the paper again and stared at it for a long time. At last he closed it, folding the crease between his fingers, pressing it tight. Then he very deliberately ripped it in half, and in half again.

I felt the pieces flutter down around me.

We ate silently, Snape's fingers bitter from the tea.

After breakfast Snape took us out to the garden, a sheaf of papers under his arm. He sent us jogging laps, watching us intermittently from his spot settled under a large tree, the papers spread out around him. Coraxis came and went, taking notes and bringing back replies. We jogged around and around, the ground soft and damp, the smell of the earth in our noses.

Running wasn't new; we'd done it before, almost every day, in fact. Never very long, just long enough to cause our muscles to burn, our breath to get really short. Every day we could go a bit longer. Ron, in particular, could run longer than before. Sometimes Snape set him to running a few more laps after Hermione and I collapsed in the shade of the trees. He could run for a long time without getting winded, his long legs flashing. When he ran alone, he ran faster, feet kicking up divots of grass.

But today he was jumpy, his stride off, feet jarring the ground. Twice he tripped over his own legs, just managing to straighten out before going down in a tangle of limbs. I didn't dare sign at him, but I shot him a questioning look.

He shook his head at me, and shot a glance at Snape, his face pinched and white. I grimaced in sympathy, but had no answer for him.

Today was the day that all three of us would lose our 'other' virginities to Snape, and Ron was plainly terrified.

Hell, I didn't blame him. My stomach was knotted as well, but for different reasons.

What would Snape tell them about last night? He would tell them, I knew. There's no way he'd let a bit of ammunition like that go to waste. I hoped, in vain I feared, that he would keep the fact that I enjoyed it so much to himself. Unlike Hermione, he hadn't needed magic to make me respond. Oh no, I did that all on my own. Which made me rather shivery, out here in the bright sun, thinking about it. I shook my head, running a bit faster. Ron kept up with me easily, but Hermione fell back, her breath loud.

I ran faster, pushing myself. I didn't want to look at Ron, not right now, not with the scratches from Snape's nails beginning to sting with sweat. He caught up again, his knees flashing into view next to me.

We ran. Raced. I tried to outrun him, outrun my thoughts, but I could do neither. He caught up with me every time I tried to go faster, and my thoughts... my thoughts raced ahead of me, pulling my brain to places it didn't want to go.

Around the garden once, twice, the wild greenery blurring into a green stripe against the stone walls. My glasses fogged, my chest hurt. And beside me, Ron ran; sweat darkening his ginger hair, his face filling with color, matching me pace for pace. I couldn't outrun him, couldn't leave him behind.

My breath gave out and I thudded to a halt, my side aching, my breath stuttering. Ron had more trouble stopping and passed me by a few meters, sucking in great lungfuls of air. He swung his arms a couple of times, walking back toward me, pulling out of my hunched over, gasping for breath position into a slow walk. We went in slow circles.

"What... was that... about?" Ron asked finally, his chest still heaving.

I looked away, scrubbing my hands through my hair to cover it. "Dunno, just ...felt like running, I guess."

"I guess," he said, and I could feel his eyes on me. Or maybe it was just the sun, pinking the skin on my shoulders. It burned, and I was sure that it would leave marks.

Snape clapped his hands and we went to him, obedient as ducklings. Hermione already sat at his feet, knees tucked under her, hands curled at the small of her back. Sweat glimmered here and there in the patchy sunlight falling through the leaves. The shade felt good on my face and I tipped my head back as I settled down. I could see the sunlight, shafts of it coming down, dotting the grass, painting golden stripes on pale flesh.

Snape let us settle in, gathering up his papers and tucking the loose sheaf into his robe. He folded his arms behind his back and stared at us, his look cold and calculating.

"There has been a complication with your training. Well, to be precise, it has nothing to do with your training... except where it completely changes everything."

My brow furrowed. What now?

Snape paced in front of us, his robe billowing. The sunlight slashed at his face. He walked quickly, shoes kicking up a few fallen leaves. He turned back, flung his hand out, a bony finger pointed at me. "You, at least, won't be a problem. You proved last night to be not only trainable, but as suited to this as I could have possibly hoped for."

I could feel the flush creeping up my chest, my face hot. I stared at my knees. They were either blushing, or bruised from the stone in the bathtub.

"Bili, however, being female, is going to be targeted, and I'm... concerned about her abilities."

Next to me, Hermione stiffened.

Snape moved, stepping close to Ron and tilting his head up. "And you... I find myself to be presented with quite the problem with you, Taru. I can bet that out of the three of you, you will break first." He shoved Ron's head down, stalking back to the tree to take a few breaths.

I was more than a little nervous. What had him so rattled? I wanted to ask, I even opened my mouth to ask, but I thought better of it. He'd tell us... or not, and I didn't feel like earning any new stripes right now.

 

"But however I'm going to deal with it, I've got limited time, and too many things to do. Today, if you recall, we were to take all three of you, together. But one of you chose to rid yourself of that inconvenience last night, so we have a bit more time."

He wasn't even looking at me when he said it. He was referring to a book and writing something on a parchment. But I felt accusing eyes on me anyway. I glanced at Hermione and Ron; they stared at me, shock and ... something else showing on their faces. I sunk my head down, not meeting their eyes. Bastard. I knew it. And he wasn't done yet.

"Indeed, Modha showed such a talent for it that we will be able to skip the preliminaries with him. But our schedule has been pushed up, as it were, and we have more at stake. Therefore," he set the papers aside, "we will have to skip some of the niceties. Bili, I keep reminding you that this was all your choice. Believe me when I say that you are not suited for this, and the only way I know of to toughen you up is to use you. It will do you no good if I'm soft on you, not now. We don't have the time for it. I am... displeased that circumstances have forced my hand." He paused, and shut his eyes briefly. He stayed like that a moment, taking a deep breath, before his face hardened into a scowl and he surged upright, scattering his carefully stacked papers.

He strode over to us, pulling Hermione to her feet. "You two, stay." and just like that, Ron and I couldn't move, our legs locked to the ground. Hermione looked a bit green, but her jaw was set. She didn't fight him, even though his fingers were denting her arm hard enough that her skin had gone white beneath them.

He roughly pulled her over to where he had been sitting and barely paused to transfigure a large rock into a crude bench. Snape forced her to her knees, and then pushed her hard and she fell forward, catching herself a moment before her face would have hit the stone. She started to get up, but a muttered incantation sent vines growing up around her, trapping her arms to the ground.

"Stay still, you little bitch," he snapped, and touched the tattoo on her back. I saw her twitch, and she licked her lips nervously.

Was he really going to do this here? Somehow being outside made it worse; the air and the grass and the sky meant freedom, not... not...

Rape. And that's what this was. Snape summoned a bottle of oil from inside while he took off his clothing, his skin unnaturally pale, the sunlight turning it yellowish in patches as he moved though the shadows. His movements were angry, sharp, as he threw his robes to the ground and stepped out of his trousers, leaving them in the grass.

He wasn't even hard. The bottle smacked into his hand as he dropped to his knees.

He poured oil over his fingers and slid two of them up her arse quickly. She cried out, muffling it against the stone. Snape's face hardened further, the line between his brows sharp. His other hand clenched on the bottle. He worked his fingers inside of her, pressed the bottle in his hand against her tailbone to hold her hips still. A leaf drifted down and landed on her foot, and her toes clenched around it.

Snape pulled his fingers out and coated them in oil again, and then pushed three of them in, twisting his arm hard. This time Hermione couldn't stifle the noise, and she yelped, her back arching, trying to get away. I felt kind of sick... and at the same time, I remembered what those fingers felt like inside of me, pulling and stretching me open. I felt my cock thicken, and bit the inside of my cheek.

The pain didn't help, didn't make my cock go limp again. If anything, it got a bit harder. I looked over at Ron, to see if he had noticed.

Ron's skin was so white that the freckles looked like spots of paint. His hands were tearing up chunks of grass and dirt slowly as his fingers dug and his fists closed. I could see a rim of white around his whole eye. He looked moments from passing out.

I bumped my shoulder against his, trying to make him look away. He shook his head without turning, and one hand flashed into my view.

Watch. Not right to look away, he signed, and I nodded, chewing at my lip.

Snape was thrusting his fingers into her hard when I looked back, his head down. She was panting, her face screwed up, her fingers wrapped around the vines. Snape finally yanked his hand away and splashed some oil into it, then grabbed his cock and stroked it hard. It stiffened slowly, and he looked away from her, out into the garden.

His face was terrible.

I made some little noise, a gasp, and his head whipped around, his eyes slamming into me. His scowl melted into a smirk. His hand sped up on his cock, and I watched, damn me, I watched and my cock started to get hard too. I felt like I was caught in a spiral; he was wanking and looking at me so my cock got hard and I looked at him which made his cock hard as he looked at me-

and I think we would have stayed like that, feeding off each other, except that Hermione jerked and Snape seemed to remember what he was doing. He turned back to her, and poured more of the oil across her arse, and then tossed the bottle away. It broke with a soft crash somewhere in the bushes..

He laid one hand on her lower back, the fingers almost stroking her, tapping across her tattoo and slowly pressed his cock against her hole. She moaned, rolling her head on the bench, and I didn't know why, but the noise didn't quite sound like pain. I saw him thrust, just a bit, and her shoulders lifted off the bench briefly, the ripple flowing down until it broke against Snape's body, and then he was fucking her, pushing in hard, his back bowed over hers. A gust of wind sent shadows scuttling over them, and they rocked there for a while.

Hermione's voice rose, groaning and crying, and now she was definitely not in pain, or at least, not only in pain. Snape grabbed at her hip, thrusting faster, and one of his hands slid under her. Her cries sharpened.

My cock was hard at this point, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Ron's was too. He had stopped ripping up chunks of grass and just sat, mouth open a bit, one filthy hand clenched on his thigh, the other buried to the knuckles in mangled dirt. I think he was trying not to touch himself. I wanted to, myself, but I didn't . I thought it would be... I dunno, disrespectful, I guess. Here Hermione was going though a terrible ordeal -again, my mind whispered- and I was sitting over here hard as a rock... again.

This time I wouldn't get off on it. I wouldn't.

Snape spread his knees, forcing her legs open wider, and she panted openmouthed, grinding against him. He moved faster, harder, his hand underneath her thrusting in rhythm, and then he came, hard, crying out. She echoed him, their bodies churning, and then they both went still.

Next to me, Ron's fingernails clenched so hard on his thigh that I could see red among the torn blades of grass.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Snape called the Coraxis to clean us up and strode inside. Five of them descended on us, bringing water and cloths and towels. They bundled Hermione up in a towel and whisked her off to the bath, and she stumbled as she walked. They held her up with their soft black winghands, and she didn't fall.

Another Coraxis washed my face, my hands, chirping under its breath. Two more got Ron cleaned up, washing off the dirt and blood, chittering about the half circle of cuts. Eventually one of them daubed a bit of potion on the broken skin, and it scabbed over and healed quickly. They even brushed my hair, even though it didn't do any good.

They somehow broke the spell holding us to the ground, and led us inside, pointing to the ground in front of Snape's desk, where we usually knelt. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

He emerged from the potion storeroom, rubbing his hand against his robe. He sat down at his desk, drank down a shot of firewhisky, and stared at us for a long time. I stared at his feet. They had grass stains on the tops, the green making his skin seem even paler.

He glanced at the clock, and then at us again. Shaking his head, he stood, and motioned us to follow him.

I had to push on Ron's shoulder to get him to move. His steps were slow as we approached the Vindicta, and he almost stopped in the doorway. I gave him another little push and followed him inside.

The door swung shut behind me, and I jumped at the slight noise. Ron stood, fists clenched, in the center of the room. Snape was taking off his robe, laying it out over a chair, seemingly unconcerned about either of us. He grabbed a large bottle of oil from the cabinet next to the bed, and set it out.

"Taru, this way. Stand by the bed," he said, his voice soft, reasonable.

Ron didn't move.

Snape sighed, and shot me a look. I looked at him, and then over at Ron, and squared my shoulders. It wouldn't do him any good to fight, not right now, and he'd only hurt himself. I walked over and took his arm, dragging him to the bed. He came with me, mostly from habit, I think.

Snape poured some oil into his hand and dotted Ron's forehead with it, painted thick stripes down his cheeks and across his lips. He shuddered. Snape pressed his palm to Ron's chest, wiping his hand clean

Ron was stiff, frozen, his eyes squeezed shut. The oil glistened on Ron's face, his chest, and I could see his cock, half hard from the effect of the oil. But he wasn't moving, barely breathing. I looked over his shoulder to Snape, standing there with his hands on his hips, watching me. I looked away. For his own good, I told myself, and rubbed my sweaty hands on my thighs.

I folded my arms around Ron, carefully hugging him. This close I could feel him trembling, and I stroked his back for a moment, trying to make him loosen up. My fingers slid up the cold sweat on his back, pulling at his neck, forcing him to bend his head, just a little. I rubbed circles on his neck, down his back, pressing close. His breath fluttered in my hair. I tightened my arms around him, holding him close, his trembling subsided. He relaxed a bit more, his hands twitching against my sides.

"It's okay," I murmured into his hair. "I swear it. It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a tiny, jerky movement, and I could feel the muscles in his neck creak.

I snuck my tongue out, licking a warm stripe up the cords of his throat. He shuddered, melting by degrees into my arms. I kept up my soft patter of words, licking his neck, rubbing my face into his hair, until he was pliant in my arms, breathing quietly against my shoulder. I nuzzled his neck, eye on Snape, who had one black eyebrow arched. He motioned for me to get on with it, and I nodded.

I pulled back, slowly, and Ron's arms came up around me, locking me tight.

"Don't go," he said, eyes half open, his voice still tight and small.

I leaned into him, then back, rocking him slowly, getting his feet moving, pulling him with me as I walked backward to the bed. He started to stiffen up again, but I nibbled his ear, whispering, "I'm here. Come on, it's fine, we're fine, everything's okay," over and over.

When I got to the bed, he jerked to a stop, trying to look over his shoulder. I caught his head, pulling him into a kiss.

I'm not sure who was more surprised, Ron or I. I kissed him like I had kissed Jericho earlier, pushing his mouth open, plunging my tongue into him. He froze for a moment, but then his hands came up to hold my head in place, and he kissed me like he wanted to crush our faces together, his hands on my head holding me tight. I could taste the oil, and it spread through me, slick and hot and alive, sparking nerves.

It went on for a long time, wet and messy and I kind of forgot why we were kissing, who was there. I licked and sucked at his lips, bit his tongue, and he groaned into my mouth, his cock hard against my stomach. I slid a hand between us, raking his pubic hair with my fingernails, curling my hand around him. He groaned into my mouth, and I swallowed the sound before pulling back, licking down his chin. Our spit was cool, there, and I licked through it, down his neck to his chest, biting him much as I bit Jericho, my teeth cruel and sharp. He bucked against my hand, and I shoved a few fingers into his mouth to shut him up.

He sucked them, immediately, his eyes glassy. His cock was hard in my hand, the tip wet, and I sucked at his nipple, wanting to taste his cock, but not wanting to spook him.

Suddenly there were more hands, hands coated in that wonderful smelling oil, smoothing down Ron's shoulders and arms, circling around to where I held him. The hands disappeared again, and a stream of oil slid down Ron's chest, wetting my cheek where it pressed to his skin, and the taste seeped into my mouth. I groaned, my own cock hard. The oil splashed, ran wet and hot though the hair at his groin, sliding onto my hand and around him and I moved, the oil making everything slick and hot, and Ron arched backward, chest rumbling under my lips. More oil splashed through his hair, running down his face in rivulets, coating everything.

I curled my fingers in his sucking mouth, pulling his head toward me again, and we kissed around my fingers, the oil everywhere, our eyelashes gummed with it, our hair slick and wet.

I couldn't wait anymore, and dropped to my knees, the stone jarring, and I missed his cock on the first try, my fingers slippery and clumsy. It dug against my cheek, sliding into my hair as Ron thrust, and I grunted, pulling back to grab at him, managing to get him into my mouth.

We both moaned. The taste of his cock leaking onto my tongue mixed with the heady taste of the oil was incredible. He shifted his hands to the bedposts, spreading his legs.

I pushed my mouth down on him, my fingers holding his thighs, my nose brushing his oil-soaked curls. He thrust, caught himself, thrust again, and I brought up a hand, running a nail over the slick, wrinkled skin of his balls. He spread his legs wider.

I looked up, up his long rangy body, glistening with oil, arms straining to hold himself still, the muscles knotted. Head thrown back, sweat and oil staining his hair to the color of blood in the firelight, stuck in curls to his face.

My cock hardened further, and I pressed my thighs together. The light shifted, darkened, and I shifted my eyes to Snape, standing next to the bed, one hand holding the almost empty oil bottle. He caught my glance, smiling darkly, drizzling the oil over his fingers.

The sight woke me a bit from the lust-soaked haze, and I swallowed, tightening my hand on Ron's hip. Snape moved behind Ron, dragging a hand over his shoulders, down his back.

I could feel it when he slid the first finger in, feel it in the way Ron's body stiffened and then shuddered, his cock softening slightly in my mouth. I redoubled my effort, stroking his balls, licking at his cock as it slid in and out of my mouth, and he gasped, his hips pushed forward by the fingers inside him.

My cock drooled on my leg. Ron's cock drooled into my mouth. I couldn't see Snape's cock.

There was a shift above me as Ron went from fighting against the fingers to rolling with them, pushing back against them. Snape's hand slid over his hip, holding him steady, pushing harder. Ron yelped, but didn't stop moving his hips.

His cock, so hard, pulsed as Snape's fingers moved inside him, and I could tell he was seconds from coming. I sucked hard, my eyes shut, my fingers quick and light, skimming over his balls, feeling oil drip onto my hands. He was soaked with it, the smell heady, dark. I could feel the oil running from my lips, sliding down my chin, and it tasted of Ron and cock and sweat, and I pushed harder, trying to take more of him down my throat.

I gagged, the oil thick in my throat, and I pulled back, sucking in air around him. I felt him shift, move, his wet hand coming down to cup my head. His palm was hot against my ear, and I blinked open sticky eyes to look up at him. His eyes were dark, shadowed, but I could make out the flush on his skin. A moment of stillness; his hand on my face, his cock in my mouth, our eyes locked in the dim light.

Broken when he snapped his head back, a gasp of pain shattering the silence. His hand clenched, pulling at my hair.

Snape's hands slid around mine on Ron's hips, and he pulled backward, impaling Ron further.

I followed him down, sinking his cock back into my mouth, feeling guilt boil in my belly. Guilt, or something else, and I clenched my thighs hard, my cock twitching. Snape slowly pulled Ron onto his cock, ignoring his whimpers or my desperate movements.

Amazingly, Ron wasn't going soft in my mouth. He fought, his hips trying to pull away from Snape's hard hands, but every movement either impaled him further, or sunk him deeper into me. I slid backwards, his cock leaving a slick trail in my oil coated mouth, and nipped hard at the tip.

He bucked, groaned, jerked himself away, sinking fully onto Snape's cock.

I bathed the tip of his cock with my tongue, trying to apologize, trying to make it better. But it was too late, and Snape took one hand off of mine and planted in on Ron's back, shoving him hard. He overbalanced, flailing his arm, and bent at the waist, holding himself up with his hands on the bed. I slid downward, keeping his cock in my mouth, as he let go of my head to steady himself.

All I could see was his belly, dotted with freckles and glistening with oil, and beyond that the heavy swing of his balls, moving with every thrust into his body. Snape pushed harder, rocking him back and forth, and it was all I could do to keep up. Ron was making these... noises, deep moaning things, and it was the sound of them more than anything else that was turning me on, and I wrapped my hand around my cock, jerking it to the rhythm of those moans.

Snape's hand came around and found my lips, stretched around Ron's cock, and he stroked us both for a moment, his fingers slick and tasting of sweat, before walking over my cheek and pulling my head close. His other hand moved into my hair too, so then Ron was trapped between us, Snape's hands on my head locking him in without touching him, and I realized that Ron was the one moving now, working himself onto Snape's cock and into my mouth. Snape didn't need to hold him, not anymore, didn't have to, and the thought made me stroke harder, my thighs tensing.

Ron's moans changed in pitch, and Snape yanked my head forward, pushing Ron's cock down my throat, gagging me. I suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow, and I flailed, trying to pull away. His hands held me there like iron bars, choking me with my best friend's cock, and I pulled hard at his hands, pushed at Ron's pumping hips, trying to get him to back up, but he was shuddering and jerking, his cock throbbing in my mouth, his cries ringing in my ears. His come shot down my throat, once, twice, but the third time I spasmed, and the come flowed up into my mouth, making me choke again. It flooded my sinuses as I tried to suck in air. Black spots danced in front of my eyes, and I thought I was going to pass out. My ears were roaring. I sagged against Snape's hands.

Moments later he let me go, and I collapsed to the ground. I could barely move, concentrating on coughing, clearing my nose and throat. My eyes were wet, running like my nose, and all I could smell was come and the thick oil. I dragged my hand across my face.

A foot planted itself against my shoulder, rolling me over roughly. I looked up at Snape, my vision blurred by tears. He was working his cock in his fist, his face tight and hard, and I didn't move, didn't roll out from under him. He came, grunting harshly, the come splashing down against my chest, my face, joining with Ron's come still seeping from my nose and lips. I shut my eyes against it, feeling it glue my eyelashes together, and slumped backwards, letting them do what they would, my mind empty and blank and compliant.

I could hear Ron crying, somewhere above me, and found that at that current moment, I didn't much care.

 

****

 

I floated.

My brain didn't seem to be engaged. My body moved, was lifted and carried and set down in warm water, and I didn't care. I kept almost remembering something, something important, but the thick layer of Not Caring would come back, and I'd relax, letting them pour water over my face, over my chest. They stopped, eventually, and I slid deeper in the water, mind still floating.

After a while the Not Caring layer thinned out. My head felt like it weighed a ton as I looked around. I was in the big bathing pool in the bathroom, sunk up to my neck in the water. My wet hair straggled around my face, cold drops sliding down my cheeks.

I had no idea how long I had been sitting there.

I dunked my head in the warm water, shaking the cooling water out of my hair I scrubbed my hands over my face and pushed myself upright, looking around. Ron was in the lower pool, huddled in the corner, his head on his arms.

Hermione was asleep on a bench, wrapped in a huge white towel, her face pinched. The remnants of the comforting haze dissipated. I sank back into the water, feeling sick.

My god. I had helped Snape take Ron in the same way I had helped him take Hermione. Worse, even, because I had participated in it; I didn't just hold him down, I touched him, sucked him off, while Snape fucked him.

He must hate me, I thought. I slid further into the water, letting it come up over my chin. He must hate me, and I don't blame him. What the hell was happening to me? One minute I'm ready to attack Snape, the next I'm doing whatever he wants. How long, I thought, how long until he orders me to take them, and I push them over a bench and do it?

There was something wrong with me. And I needed help. But my help was crouched, wounded, away from me. I had to do something, fix this somehow.

Ron first, then. He was awake; I could see his hands moving on the bench, his shoulders shaking with each muffled sob. I clambered down to his pool. The Coraxis that babysat us when Snape was out of his rooms sat on a stool at the door of the bathroom, hands working over some craft-thing of wire and feathers. I figured we had at least a few minutes.

I stopped at the edge of the pool, uncertain. What if he was too angry with me? Maybe I should wake up Hermione first, and then confront him. I turned, undecided, but Ron grabbed my wrist and yanked me off balance, toppling me into the pool.

I squawked, flailing, as he swung his arms around my shoulders and pushed me under the water. He was silent; I could just make out his face though the water. He looked mad. Insane, completely bonkers, cold and gone. It occurred to me as I fought that I had made a very bad mistake in not waking Hermione up first.

I kicked, my heels hitting the edge of the pool, hitting him, but he didn't flinch. I got one hand out of the water, grabbed his face, tried to push him away.

He was stronger than me, bigger than me. He could do what he liked and I'd be dead before the Coraxis could get to me. Dead. It'd be over, and there'd be nothing I could do. Death suddenly seemed like a perfectly good sentence for doing what I had done to my best friend. You know you deserve it, a part of me whispered. I stopped fighting, going slack in the warm water. My vision was darkening around the edges. My heartbeat thudded. All I had to do was open my mouth and breathe, and it'd be over in minutes, and I'd never...

Wait, I had to do something, had to let him know--

I lifted one hand, and it took an eternity to push out of the water. Slowly, slowly, I made my fingers move. Sorry, I signed, and opened my mouth, ready to finish this thing.

The arms around me jerked. He yanked me out of the water. Startled, I gasped, not a lungful of water, but a wet lungful of steam and air, and I choked, the will to live rising within me. I got free, pushed him away, got to the edge of the pool to grip it with hands that were stiff with panic.

I coughed, trying to breathe. I felt his hand, broad and warm, touch my back; I smacked his arm away, rounding on him.

"What the bloody hell was that?" I yelled. "I came down here to help you, to talk to you, and you try to drown me? What the HELL, Ron?"

"Shut up! You knew I wouldn't kill you, you just went limp and I pulled you out and what the hell are you mad at me for! You're the one who hurt me!”

Something moved at the edge of my vision, and I whipped my head around to see the Coraxis standing there, beak gaping, looking from one of us to the other. It jumped back a step when I turned on it, and started backing toward the door.

"YOU, stay RIGHT there!" I roared, signing with huge movements as I did so. It froze, one hand to it's throat as though to protect it.

"Sure, threaten him, now, why don't you? What are you going to do, Harry, push him against the wall and fuck him, too?" Ron’s voice cut though me.

My vision blurred, his words calling up all the fears floating in my head, and I launched myself at him, sending us both crashing into the water.

We fought, rolling in and out of the water, banging heads and hands and knees on the stone benches in the pool, screaming and flailing.

Something grabbed me around the middle and hoisted me, kicking and flailing, into the air. I fought the strong, feathery hands, wanting to get back to Ron, pound his empty head in, make him stop saying such terrible things. True things, the small part of me whispered, and I roared again, kicking the Coraxis holding me squarely in the stomach and suddenly I was falling. I hit the bench on the way down, feeling my shoulder wrench and pop, and then the bench caught the side of my head and everything went black.

I swam up to consciousness, pain turning my vision to a mess of color and light I groaned as we turned a corner, nausea rising. I tried to move my arm, and the pain shot thought me, sharper. I screamed; my vision dimmed.

When the light returned, I lay on a hard bed. Someone was strapping my legs down securely, and I rolled my head, feeling sick. I could just barely see a black shape, crouched next to the bed, and I signed at it, hoping it was a Coraxis.

sick I signed, my fingers clumsy. puke.

The form moved, got taller suddenly and there was a basin when I needed it, and I puked hard, the motion wrenching my shoulder, which made me puke again. The cycle repeated for an endless minute while black and gold and white shapes swirled around me, the noise crippling. Something cool touched my lips; I thought it was water, gulped at it. But it was a potion, foul and bitter, and I groaned, feeling it work through me.

It took the pain, locked it away, out of my reach, and I collapsed back onto the bed.

I couldn't see straight. I must have lost my glasses in the fight..

Many hands descended on me, large or small, dark, holding my chest and arm, and somebody said "Ready? One, two, three," and the pain was back, blinding despite the medicine, and I screamed as my shoulder popped back into place. The hands held me for another moment, probing and pushing and making my shoulder throb I groaned under my breath, and one of the small black hands petted my hair. It was warm.

The large hands wrapped my shoulder with a bandage and made me drink another foul potion. I licked my lips, tasting anise and redwart, remembering nothing about what those things did together.

The frantic motions around me slowed, and I felt someone painting potions onto my cuts and scrapes. Someone pulled a blanket up around me, and I let myself slip into a fuzzy, dark sleep.

As I did I found myself hoping that the pain would stay locked away when I woke up.

As it turns out, it didn't.

But it wasn't so bad, and I could move, pushing myself up with my unbandaged hand, blinking at my surroundings. My glasses sat on the table next to the bed; I fumbled with them, but managed to get them on with one hand.

I was in the infirmary.

It looked almost as it had all those months ago, when we had raided it for medical supplies for the failed final battle. Except it was clean, cleaner than it had been when we left, and half the beds were gone, replaced with low platforms with bowl-shaped depressions in them. They were lined with what looked like hay and large pillows.

I pushed myself up, trying to see if anyone else were here. A few beds away, a long curtain blocked off the rest of the infirmary, and I could hear people behind it. I threw the blankets back, intending to go see who was here, but I didn't quite have the energy. I sagged back into bed, knocking a metal bedpan off the table as I did. It clattered to the floor.

I heard footsteps, and then large black hands were helping me back into bed. I lay back against the pillows, looking up at the person above me.

Except it wasn't a person.

It was a Coraxis. Sort of. It was taller, much, much taller, and thicker. It almost looked like a cross between a man and a Coraxis. I blinked. Humans could mate with Coraxis? That didn't seem right.

"I see you are wake," it said carefully, its voice thick and croaking, "I will get Doctor." It sounded male. It turned away, and I could see it had a short, feathered tail poking out from its green robe. Its feet were more human than those of the Coraxis I knew, but they still were bird feet, the nails sharp, the skin papery looking. It crossed behind the curtain.

I heard a few sentences in the Coraxis language, and then another Coraxis-man appeared. I recognized him; he was the same man who had picked up the Coraxis with the broken arm the first day we were here. He looked almost human. Except for the fact that he was almost entirely black. Entirely. His eyes had no white, just a shiny black orb. His hands looked completely human, other than the color.

"I was told you were awake, and I see that you are. Good. Had you not woken up in the next ten minutes, I would have had to wake you," he said, and I was glad I had woken up on my own. His voice was raspy, but pleasant.

He took my temperature, holding the thermometer between my lips with his dark fingers. I didn't pull away, didn't fight; this man-thing was a doctor, whatever weird form he took, and his manner was more comforting than odd.

He checked my heart and lungs, shone a light into my eyes. It felt more like going to a Muggle doctor than Madam Pomfrey’s hands-off magic medicine, but that soothed me further. This was one of the most normal things that had happened to me in months.

Even if the doctor was a bird-man.

The doctor made a note on a parchment, and nodded to himself. "Your shoulder should be fine. A bit sore, and I was instructed to leave the bruises, but there's no permanent damage. Which is good, because you've been assigned to me for the next few hours, and I need the help."

I stared, shrinking. Assigned to him? In what manner?

He tipped his head at me, then chuckled.

"Relax, boy. As if I'd touch you. No, the Master just thought you could use some more cooling off time. Quite the little row you got into with your friend. You got the bad end of it, I'm afraid; he wasn't hurt at all." He shook his head. "You really shouldn't pick fights you have no hope of winning, you know."

I tried to ask a question, and found that I had no voice. I sighed heavily. The doctor tipped his head at me.

Muted, are you? he signed, and I froze, panic lighting a fire in my belly.

"Relax, boy," he said, "You really think I could treat the slaves of this House without knowing everything about them? You are not the first to pick up the sign language, which is why it was developed in the first place. The lesser Coraxis cannot manage human speech, though they understand it readily, and they needed some way of communicating with you." He pulled me into a seated position, helped me stand. I swayed, and he steadied me.

water? I asked, and he let me sip at a glass, though he wouldn't let me have too much. He made me stretch my shoulder, which hurt, and then he handed me a broom, and pointed to the row of not-beds.

"Start by sweeping over there, and then you can come with me on my rounds. No need to hurry; I've got some work to do. Don't leave this section of the room, though."

I pushed the broom around slowly, my shoulder twinging. The not-beds were nests, I realized, and then mentally smacked myself. Of course they were; the Coraxis were birds, why wouldn't their infirmary have nests? Small bits of hay and a few downy feathers were all I swept up, but I went around each nest carefully, my shoulder loosening further the more I used it.

I realized as I finished the row that I was completely nude, and went to the edge of the curtain to get the doctor's attention. I didn't cross the curtain, just stood on the edge and knocked on the support pole.

"Yes?" he called, and I shook my head, wishing I could talk. After a moment of silence I stuck my hand through the opening in the curtain and signed at him. I had no clue if he could see it, but I wasn't about to stand there forever while he remembered I couldn't talk.

May I have clothes? I signed.

The doctor batted my hand away and came though the curtain. "I was coming, I just had to finish what I was doing. Impatient thing, aren't you? The Master said you were. Clothing, is it? I suppose I could get you something, if you're uncomfortable. But you really should get used to it. It's not often that you'll even be given the option." The doctor rummaged in a cabinet and found a loincloth. I slipped into it. Amazing how such a small piece of cloth could make me feel protected.

What's your name? I asked the doctor, and he tipped his head at me again.

"Everyone here just calls me Doctor, but you're not comfortable with that, I suppose. Well, you could call me Arzt, but that would be... inappropriate. So. How about you just call me Doc?" He smiled, and it was both comforting and chilling; his mouth opened too wide, and I had the impression of a very sharp serrated ridge instead of teeth.

Doctor? I signed. I didn’t know how to abbreviate it in sign.

He showed me, making the sign with sharp movements instead of smooth. I tried to imitate him. He nodded.

"And you are Modha, our little troublemaker. You three have caused quite a stir, you know," Doc said, motioning for me to follow him. We left the infirmary and went down the long hallway that led to the common areas. Doc stopped by what looked like a kitchen, and got a bulging burlap sack off a rack by the door, which he handed to me. It smelled of dirt and I could feel it against my bare shoulder, warm. I could feel something small squirming against my skin. I shuddered. We went up one staircase, and I blinked; huge wood and steel bands had been strapped around the staircase, bolting it to the wall. I could feel it creak and shiver under my feet.

The portraits on the wall were empty, the occupants fled. I ran my fingers over the bumpy landscape where the Giraffe used to walk, and swallowed a lump in my throat. So much change.

Doc led me to the hallway that led to the Ravenclaw common area, and tapped a sequence on a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, her hand cupped around a stone nest. The statue hitched up its skirts and stepped away, and I followed Doc down the tunnel.

It was dark, here, and warm. It smelled a bit like the Owlery. I could see warm light coming from the end of the tunnel.

I knocked my head on something, and rubbed at the knot.

The low ceiling opened into a large sitting room, and I looked around. It looked like the Gryffindor sitting room, except that the walls were painted in scenes of the outdoors, vistas of cliffs and forests, the sky arching overhead. The painted sun gave off light, flooding the chairs and tables with bright light. Small painted clouds drifted in the wind, and I could feel the breeze on my face. I was too busy staring at the amazing paintings to look at the rest of the room.

Doc whistled, and a piping squeal ripped through the room. I heard the rustle of wings.

Tiny lesser Coraxis flooded the room, none of them taller than my waist. They hopped and peeped and chirped at Doc, pushing me out of the way with their beaks, encircling him and tugging on his clothing. They way they moved mesmerized me: reptile-like and quick. I shuddered as they grasped for him, their hands tipped with sharp claws. There were so many...

Doc laughed at their antics, and spoke to them gently, motioning toward me. They stilled, then turned to look at me, a hundred shiny black eyes focusing on me at once.

I froze, my hands clenched into the painted stone behind me, uncertain of what to do. The bag fell against my feet, heavy and warm. Doc arched a black eyebrow on his black face.

Hello I finally signed, and they tipped their heads this way and that, getting a better view. It was like being stared at by the world’s creepiest toddlers. One advanced, head swinging back and forth, and I suddenly remembered Hermione's lecture about birds and dinosaurs. I put out a hand to stop it from coming any closer. It rolled its head, looking at me from one eye then the other, and snapped at my hand. I jerked my hand away.

Doc snickered, and whistled for their attention. They all turned to him, lining up in groups of five. He went through each group, checking beaks and eyes, feeling wings and sometimes pulling feathers. The Coraxis sat though all of this stoically, tracking the doctor with their beetle-black eyes, ignoring me. Which I was fine with. Totally, totally fine.

And then he was done, and pulled the sack from me and dumped it on the ground, dirt and brightly colored worms pouring out onto the floor. There was a high keening wail as the Coraxis spotted them. Doc stepped back, careful not to squish any of the worms, and clicked at the Coraxis.

I barely kept my lunch down, watching them leap and snatch up the wiggling creatures, swallowing them whole. I could see their throats work, hear the soft squish of each mouthful. I turned away, looking at the sky-painted wall, watching the clouds glide across the blue.

Doc took with him on the rest of his rounds. Feeding the children had been the easy part. I followed him all over the castle, cleaning up after his tasks, or holding reluctant patients as Doc took samples and dosed them with potions. We managed to avoid the heavily trafficked areas, sticking mostly to the Coraxis breeding area.

I turned eggs in the incubation room for a long, long time. Each one needed to be turned several times a day, so that the golden light shining on them would hit every side. I'm not sure how the eggs came into being, as they were much larger than an adult Coraxis could lay, but they all came in groups of five, numbers carefully painted on the mottled black and gold shells. Each group stood apart from the others. Given the number of children earlier, and the number of eggs, they were breeding rapidly. I was turning the last batch, closest to the windows, when all five of them began to rock. I ran back to Doc, and pointed. He cussed, fluently, ran for a cart of disturbing supplies that I tried not to look at.

The first egg cracked open, oozing pink fluid. The smell burned my nose and made my eyes water. Doc hooked his fingers into the small hole and pulled the egg apart, spilling a tiny baby into the light.

It was about the size of a human baby, bright pink under a thin coating of what looked like wet hair, and I could see it's eyes through the thin skin of it's eyeballs. It was revolting. Doc wiped it down, and pinched its arm, and it let out a wail. He nodded, and used a quill to write a large number one on its forehead. He wrapped it in a yellow blanket and handed it off to one of the milling lesser Coraxis, who cooed over it and spirited it away. Doc was working on the second shell when the third rocked violently, knocking into the fourth. Doc looked up, slightly panicked, and clacked at his other helpers, who all rushed in. I was pushed to the outside, not having a clue what to do.

For a few minutes the scene looked like something out of a medical drama; a group of doctors huddled around a patient, pulling instruments and towels into the fray. I heard a weak cry, and another, and then the group got even more frantic. Doc pulled back, holding a swaddled, ugly bundle, and looked for someone to pass it off to.

There was no one. He looked at the newborn Coraxis, up at me, and down at it again. He finally shrugged, and thrust it into my arms.

"Here, boy. Hold him. And for goodness sake, coo at him, will you? The Master'll be furious, but it's the best I can do."

I shook my head wildly, freeing one hand to pat my throat. I tried to hand the squirming, stinking bundle back to him.

“Damnation, hold still!” Doc fished an object out of his pocket and pressed it against my collar. There was a painful wrench, and I felt my throat relaxing. “Now you can coo at him. Do it.”

A weird, pained wail rose up from the nest, and Doc dived into the fray again.

The baby...thing ... wiggled in my arms, black beak stark against the pink skin. Its eyes weren't open, and what I took for wet black hair was drying into spouts of downy feathers. The number 2 was dark between his eyes. It- no, he worked a hand free, and waved it in the air. He made small, distressed noises.

"Um... coo?" I said, and his head swiveled to point at me. I cooed again, carefully touching his head with one finger. He settled in my arms, the flailing hand finding my stroking hand and latching on. His fingers were damp. I let him have one finger, and his tiny hand gripped it hard. He really wasn't that ugly, I decided. Just a baby bird. Unfinished. With those big baby bird eyes. And he was fluffing up as I watched, his feathers drying, making him look less like a drowned alien. He must have weighed about two pounds.

I found a chair and sat down carefully, cupping him in my arms. I made stupid baby noises at him, thinking of Aunt Marge and her dogs, and he listened, occasionally peeping in response. I was vaguely aware of the rest of his nestmates being born, hatched, but I was focused on him. He had tiny black fingernails, and I could feel him kicking in the gray blanket. His feet weren't human.

Doc came and got me when it was all over. I tried to give him the bundle, but he wouldn't take it. He led me down a hallway to a dimly lit room, where four lesser Coraxis sat in a circle, a baby in each lap. Two yellow bundles, two gray. And mine made three gray. An empty-armed Coraxis sat off to the side, looking at the bundle in my arms with longing. The rest looked up when Doc pushed me into the circle, and one of them said something to Doc, who shrugged.

A greater Coraxis came in, an open book balanced on her arm. She stared at me. "This is most unusual, Arzt," she said without looking away from me.

Doc bobbed his head, looking just a bit uncomfortable. "I'm aware, Doula. It was something of an emergency. There was no one else."

"Haruph. There's always someone. Hell, even one of the Mids would have been a better choice."

"Would you have rather I lost all of them," Doc snapped, his brow furrowing. "I did what I could. As it is, 4 and 5 are still not out of danger. So if you're finished berating me for saving their lives, can we get on with it? They're cold and hungry."

Indeed, the bundle in my arms was starting to peep, his black beak opening wide. The other babies were peeping too, and their handlers looked uncomfortable.

Doula shook her head and squatted down by the first baby, touching a quill to its head. A bead of blood welled up, and the baby wailed. "Fah," she said, writing the word in the book. For a moment I thought she was dismissing Doc, but then she wiped the blood up with her finger and touched it to the forehead of the Coraxis holding the baby. The blood was barely noticeable against the dark feathers. Doula turned back to the baby. "Welcome, Fah. May your life be long, and your eyes bright."

She turned to me, giving me a dark look. "I'm sure you have no idea what's going on, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because any... boy who would take this on as though adopting a puppy would be foolish, and more than a little damned." She looked down to the bundle I was cradling, touching his soft black head, just where the painted number two blended into his head feathers. She tapped the point of the quill on the skin, and he screamed. I flinched, and she shot me a look. "No harm, child. Just a prick."

Doula looked at the baby for a long moment, and said "Brae," and wrote his name in the book. She spelled it 'Bree' with a little squiggle over the first e. "Welcome, Brae. May your heart be strong, and your mind sharp," She pulled back. "You'll need it," she muttered, wiping the blood onto my forehead.

I shot her a look, petting Brae's head. He quieted under my fingers, and I felt kind of happy, making his pain go away.

Doula moved around the circle, naming the rest of the clutch. All the names were related, somehow, but I had no idea what language they were. I knew that they must follow a pattern, Fah being one, Brae, two, with Sehn, Tor, and Vaht being three, four, and five, but I didn't know even what country the language came from.

A few moments later Doula was handing each of us a cup of some foul liquid, and I watched in horror as Fah's handler sipped a bit and then spit it into her open mouth. My stomach heaved, and I must have gone white, because Doc was suddenly there, touching my shoulder.

"You don't have to do that. Just, um, spit in the cup, I guess. He needs some of you to become fully him."

I made a face, but spat into the cup. It fizzled, and the smell was disgusting. Brae seemed to like it, though, as he was straining up, his beak open wide. I swirled the cup, the smell making me lightheaded, and poured it into his mouth. He swallowed it, gulp gulp gulp, and then clacked his beak once, loudly. And then he fell asleep.

I looked up at Doc, and down at the baby.

what just happened? I asked, belatedly.

"Congratulations, Modha. You're a godfather."


	8. Chapter 8

****

Doc knocked politely on the big door to Snape's rooms, his hand on my back. I think it was to keep me from running. I was in a kind of daze. One of the other Coraxis had taken Brae from my arms, putting him in a large nest with his clutch. They rolled together, a tangle of fluffy wings and feet and beaks, and slept soundly.

One of Snape's Coraxis opened the door, and it hopped back when it saw the smudge of blood on my head. It clacked a question at Doc, who nodded. The Coraxis hopped in place, excited, and then composed itself by ruffling its feathers. It gave me a short, bobbing bow.

Doc pushed me into the room, and I saw that Ron and Hermione were sitting on their beds, reading. They looked up, and I could see that Ron's eye was blackened.

Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione tried to stand up, but was pushed back down by the magic around her bed. She winced when her bottom hit the mattress, and I felt my face go hot. Ron bit his lip and flashed a hand at me, hiding the sign as a wave.

You OK?

I nodded. Fine. Doc fixed me up.

I didn't particularly hide the signing, and both their stares shot to Doc, standing there, tall and obviously not a slave. He smiled, that too-wide smile, and signed, As I told Modha, it would be hard for me to be the slaves' physician and not know that you all knew the language. Not everyone who gets hurt can speak, you know.

Hermione looked thoughtful, and probably would have barraged him with questions but Snape swept in, and I dropped to my knees.

Snape waved at me to get up, and pointed me to my bed without looking at me. I went, gratefully sinking onto the quilt. I huddled into the corner and waited for Doc to tell Snape his news.

Doc didn't just pop out with the news that he had made me a godfather to one of Snape's servants, but rather danced around it for a while. He told Snape about my dislocated shoulder, which made Ron look a bit green, but I flexed my arm to show him I was fine. He swallowed, and nodded.

"And why did you not return him at the prescribed time?"Snape was asking Doc, only occasionally glancing up at him. He was reading and signing a stack of parchments, handing each one to the Coraxis by his side to roll up and put aside.

"Well, there was... an incident, that called me away from my normal rounds, and... The boy was actually very useful, you know. He takes direction well."

That made Snape look up, and he turned to look at me. "Does he now?"

I met his gaze squarely, forgetting about the mark on my head. His eyes widened, and he stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. In seconds he was at my bedside, gripping my chin in strong fingers, tipping my head back to look at it.

"Who?" he barked. Doc shifted from foot to foot. "Who, Arzt. Don't make me ask again."

"Brae. Second from set 458."

"But-"

"Three days early, sir. We had no warning, no indication. If I'd had any idea, he wouldn't have been there. The intended set didn't even have time to get up to the hatchery. All of Doula's assistants are bonded now, save one. And that one only because the fifth hatchling, Vaht, cracked his head on the shell of his brother, and the assistant was holding him still while I reduced the swelling. The boy likely saved all of them, M'lord."

"Don't 'm'lord' me, Arzt." Snape stood up, pushing my head down as he stood up. "What's done is done. Tell me, how are the hatchlings otherwise?"

Doc relaxed. He looked surprised that Snape was taking it so well. "Fine and strong, sir. Large, even for being three days early. Sehn almost grabbed my finger as we were pulling her from the egg. Unusual in a dry hatchling, let alone one still wet."

I coughed, silently, raising my hand to get their attention. Snape glanced at me, and then waved his hand. Something in my throat relaxed, and I coughed to clear it. "Um, Brae did grab my hand, sir. Right tightly."

"Did he now? Well, that's something, I suppose. Be glad you didn't muck that up, boy. Things would have gone badly for you, if you had." Snape sighed, and collapsed into his chair. He waved the doctor away. "Go about your business, then. I'll send the boy to you in the morning. We have precious little time, you know. This might just be the thing that breaks him."

Doc shot me a worried look. "In three weeks--If he does end up-"

"I'll deal with it. Brae will live, if that comes to pass. Not well, not happily, but he will live."

The doctor bowed, touching his fist to his nose. The door had no sooner shut behind him than Snape was up pacing, his robe swishing around his legs. It looked like silk, heavy with black-on-black embroidery.

We watched him pace. The bed felt very nice under me, soft and familiar and I could feel my eyelids pulling shut even though I knew I shouldn’t sleep. I fought my eyes open for a moment, then slipped into a dose.

Snape threw a book onto the bed, catching me across the chest.

"While you were off increasing the size of your family, Modha, Bili and Taru and I had a little chat. They now know what is in store for them, and for you, at the Ball three weeks hence. I suppose I could let them fill your head with all sorts of tales, but I prefer to tell you myself. If not for your proper education, then to see the look on your face."

I swallowed. Snape sounded deadly serious--and more than a little tense. I glanced at Ron. He had his head down, chewing one nail. Snape had been trying to break him of the habit, even going so far as hexing his fingers to taste like bubotuber pus, but Ron still chewed when he was nervous. Or scared.

Snape leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. "In three weeks there will be a ball. I have been... requested, to host it here. A great honor, as the Ball is held only once a year. I haven't hosted it for several years. The first time I hosted it, it was a celebration of the taking of this castle. Each year it has become a larger event. This one will be no different."

He went into more detail, listing groups that would be in attendance, and how large the roast boar had been last year, all in a darkly sarcastic monotone. I was half listening, half thinking. Something he had said bothered me, sounded wrong, off, and it took me a moment to figure it out.

Several years? Less than a year ago, we had been students in this castle, the war a building but still distant problem. How could he have hosted any Death Eater party? I glanced over at Hermione, who nodded quickly. She had caught it too. I hoped I would have a chance to talk to her later.

"Pay attention, little godfather, or you'll miss the best part." Snape's voice carried the threat, and I looked up at him, biting my lip.

"As host, I am required to provide... entertainment. And, specifically, you three have been requested. Which means, in case you have as little ability to correlate facts as I think you do, you will have to be functional, if not brilliant, slaves."

"You will have to comport yourselves well enough to avoid reprimand. You will be required to serve, in whatever capacity they find for you. And, specifically, Modha will have to entertain our Lord."

The room spun, and I grabbed the mattress. Snape moved close to me, crouching, too close. His voice broke over my ear. "Do you understand, boy? In three weeks, the Voldemort wants a taste of you. And he will have it; in whatever manner he wishes. He will most certainly fuck you,” The word sounded particularly vulgar. I shivered. “And, if you're very lucky, that'll be the most he'll ask of you. But, knowing him, and knowing you, that will not be the case."

He moved his hand into my hair and clenched. The pain gave me something to concentrate on, and I shut my eyes, pulling my head forward so he would pull harder. He wrenched my head back. "Knowing you, it will be a case of you pushing every button he has, and only my skill as a negotiator will save a scrap of your sorry hide. And you've made it an absolute imperative that I do so."

He threw my head forward, and I collapsed on the bed, panting. Fear conjured horrible pictures in my head, pictures of me on my knees, sucking a long snaky cock. I felt my tongue go thick, a sour taste filling my throat. I tried not to gag.

"You've managed to make yourself important to somebody I actually give a damn about. Brae needs you, boy. The Coraxis imprint very strongly on their godparents, and you're going to have to spend at least an hour a day with him for the next few weeks. Hours that would be better spent learning how to stay alive."

Snape sighed, sounding irritated and tired. "No help for it. What it does mean, however, is that your schedule will be even more accelerated than before. I have an unavoidable meeting this evening, but when I return, be prepared to continue."

He rubbed his hands through his hair and gathered up some papers off his desk. The Coraxis held the door for him, and he was almost through it when he turned and looked at us.

"You will be fed, and I expect you to read at least through chapter four of that book, all three of you, by morning. Bili, you may help your dim-witted companions understand what they have read, if you are so inclined." He waved his hand, and I saw Ron's throat move as he swallowed down the remnants of the spell. "Get to it. You won't have much time after this for idling the evening in bed." He stalked off, and the Coraxis pulled the door shut behind him.

I looked over at Ron and Hermione. Ron cleared his throat.

"So, um, about last night..." He trailed off and fiddled with a bit of his quilt. I waited, not really sure what to say to him.

"For goodness sake, you two! Taru, you were talking all morning about how sorry you were, and I can't believe that Modha's going to hold it against you." Hermione's voice was hoarse, and she folded her arms, staring at us just like she used to back in the day. "Honestly. Just both say you're sorry, and then can we please do this ‘homework’? I've read a bit, and I need to talk to you both. And I can't do that if you're going to sit there and equivocate all evening!"

I had no idea what that meant, but she was right. "I… I'm sorry about last night. I, um. I don't know why I-"

"I do," he said, and he looked up at the ceiling instead of at me. "It was gonna happen anyway, right? At least he didn't have an excuse to do to me what he did to Bili. At least you didn't hurt me."

"Hurt you? I helped him hurt you!"

"No you didn't, Modha. Not really. All you did was... was-" Ron trailed off, face bright red.

"Suck him off while Snape buggered him," Hermione said. Her cheeks were pink, but her voice was mostly steady.

We stared at her in shock.

"Which, I think, under the circumstances, isn't that terrible a thing. Have you read any of this?" she asked, tapping the book on her bed. I turned to look at mine. It was heavy, bound in black leather with gold tracings.

"The Comportment and Expectations of Diciplus," I said, "By... S. Snape? That bastard gave us his own book to read?" I shook my head. "Egotist."

Hermione shook her head and flipped the book open, turning quickly to a point marked with a bit of leaf. "Look at chapter three."

Chapter Three bore the unsettling subtitle, "What to do if you're the main course at the Black Chrysanthemum Ball."

I read the first two pages, stared at the diagram, read and reread the list on page 3. I couldn't even figure out what was happening on page four, and looked to Hermione for help. She sat with her arms clasped around her knees, watching me read.

"Tell me this is a joke. Please? Snape's having a go at us, and this book is just part of an elaborate prop?"

She shook her head. "Chapter one is all the positions we've already learned, plus a handful that we haven't. And chapter two is primarily sexual acts."

I looked at the table of contents.

1\. Positions for the Penitent: How to Stay Still in (Almost) any Situation

2\. Sexual Situations Part 1: This is Tab A, Present your Slot B Please

3\. Well, Well Well, What Do We Have Here?: What to Do if You're the Main Course at the Black Chrysanthemum Ball

4\. Oh What a Lovely Tea Party! Techniques for Serving that Won't get Your Head Hexed Off

5\. Sexual Situations Part 2: Coming Back for More

6\. Advanced Sexual Situations: Begging for It is Just the Beginning.

There were more, but my head hurt just from those.

"So, what are you suggesting we do, Bili? Study like good little slaves? Roll over and take it?" I said.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. You weren't here. You didn't hear him tell us about things that have happened there." She looked up at me, her face pale. "I think we need to learn as much as we can, as fast as we can."

"So we can fake it, and get through the ball?"

Ron spoke up, his voice soft. "I don't think faking it is gonna do it, mate."

"But... I mean, you want us to really be slaves?" I shook my head. All this time, all this fighting, and we were just acting, doing it so Snape wouldn't punish us. Right?

"Modha," Hermione said, "Listen to us. We've got to get through this. All of us. And if that means we stop fighting Snape for a while, even... even internally stop fighting him, then we have to do it."

Her words sent a chill to go through me. "Why? What did he tell you? How bad is this going to be?"

She bit her lip and turned away, but Ron answered. "Last year, three slaves died. And that was with two years of training."

I gulped. "Died?"

He nodded. "Snape thinks we've got a chance, because we're famous, and nobody will get away with intentionally killing us." His mouth twisted. "On the other hand, he also thinks that everyone will want a piece of you, in particular. He said that it's probably better for you that You Know Who wants you. Keeps you out of circulation." He dropped his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. "But we'll be out there, ‘in circulation’, and people will be upset they can't have you. And we're the next best thing."

Silence. I could see why they were so scared. I was still sick about the possibility that I'd have to sleep with Voldemort, but it wasn't as bad as being given to all the other Death Eaters.

"So... we're actually going to do this? Really be slaves?"

Hermione's eyes looked wet. She nodded. I glanced at Ron. He looked back at me from beneath his lids, his head never leaving the headboard.

"What choice do we have?" he said.

None. And we never did.

*****

The next morning, Snape woke us very early. The Coraxis had set up a large table with three place settings, and a sideboard bowed under a huge breakfast. There was porridge, fruit, pumpkin juice, toast, jam, sausages, tea and tiny pitchers of milk, kippers, everything that a really nice breakfast should have. It smelled wonderful.

Snape shooed us off to bathe, and we washed as quickly as we could. The smell of the sausages, in particular, made my mouth water. We'd been eating scraps from Snape's plate for so long I didn't know what I'd do with a real breakfast. I couldn't wait to bite into a nice piece of toast, dripping in butter and jam, and have five, no, six! sausages.

When we returned, we found all of the seats occupied. Snape stood at the head of the table. Jericho sat to his right. I didn't recognize the other two, but they both had the same feathery tattoo as Jericho wrapped around their shoulders and up to their collars. Slaves. Finished, polished slaves, by the way they were sitting, chatting quietly.

We knelt, waiting to be acknowledged. Snape left us there for a long time. My stomach rumbled once, loudly, and I heard Jericho laugh.

"You may approach. Each of you take the serving position behind one of my guests." Snape said, beckoning at us when we didn’t move fast enough.

I had read the serving chapter, and knew my place was standing just behind and to the side of the guest, but I couldn't remember which side. I walked to the right side of Jericho's chair, and saw his hand twitch, under the guise of smoothing the tablecloth.

Wrong.

I moved to the left side as if I actually knew what I was doing. Ron and Hermione were already standing, heads down, behind the other two guests.

For the next hour, Snape walked us through serving his guests, giving out sharp verbal corrections and even sharper ones with the teaspoon he had used to put honey on the toast he took off of Jericho's plate. We all ended up with small, sticky bruises from the bowl of the spoon. I did all right; this was more formal than serving dinner at the Dursley’s, but basically the same. The main rules? Don't eat anything, and for heaven's sake, don't spill anything.

Hermione did everything with a little frown between her eyes, memorizing the movements. She got steadily better, until on the last course she didn't earn any new bruises at all. I had more than a few, especially on the backs of my hands, from reaching in front of Jericho to get something.

Ron, however, was moving stiffly by the end of the meal, his arse welted. He had spilled a pitcher of cream, and, in trying to set it right, dumped a cup of tea into his guest's lap. The guest jumped up, brushing tea off of his loincloth, and Ron backed away, his hands dripping cream as he held them out in front of him.

And he was right to be afraid. Snape hauled him over the empty chair and smacked him with his hand, the spoon cupped so it would give an extra sting, giving him one stroke for every principle of serving in chapter 4. Ron squirmed and cried out, but didn't actually try to get up.

After that, Ron did all right, too, and he was very, very careful about setting down the cream pitcher.

The breakfast was finally over, the guests sent on their way. I stared at the half eaten plates of food left on the table, knowing, just knowing that Snape would have the Coraxis clear them away, and we'd be given cold plates of mash for breakfast. We knelt, waiting for Snape to pass judgment on our performance.

"Bili, that was technically proficient, if lacking in grace. We'll work on it. Taru... Well, you didn't actually break anything, and I suppose the scalding wasn't as bad as it could have been. Modha... Nothing unusual, as you performed somewhere in between your colleagues. However..." He tipped my head up, his fingers light on my chin. "Your stomach betrays you."

"Bili, Taru, take the seats at the table that your guests vacated. You may eat your fill, but touch no flatware. You may use the cups and plates only." They quickly sat down, tucking into the food. Hermione shot me a glance, her lips glazed with blackberry jam. My stomach rumbled again, despite me.

Snape smirked. He let go of my chin and went back to sit in Jericho's chair. He fixed a plate, heaping it with potatoes and sausages, toast dripping butter and marmalade down the side. I waited for him to tuck in, to enjoy his meal... but again, he did the unexpected. He placed the plate on the ground next to his chair, and clicked his fingers.

I looked up at him, and he raised one eyebrow. I started to get up, and he shook his head. "Hands and knees. Our Lord has a... fondness for pets, and you should get used to it."

I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. I needed to do this, needed to learn this if I was going to make it through everything. The floor was cold under my palms, and by the time I got to the plate, I felt bruised. I looked up at Snape, wondering if I had to ask permission to eat.

"You may proceed."

I picked up the toast, only to have him smack it out of my hand. It landed sticky side down on the ground. I stared up at him, surprised. His mouth twisted into an amused sneer. A trickle of anticipation wound it’s way down my stomach.

"Bad dog! Don't play with your food. Look at the mess you’ve made. Clean it up. Now." He put one foot on my back, pushing my chest down. Ron and Hermione stopped eating. I swallowed, fighting the urge to tell him to fuck off, and leaned down, trying to pick up the toast with my teeth. The marmalade made it stick fast to the ground, and I had to press my chest down, getting my tongue under the edge of the toast to pry it up. I knew I looked ridiculous, my arse up in the air, Snape holding me down. I got the toast up, and he let me sit back on my knees, eating the toast by nibbling bits off while holding it with my lips.

He put his hand in my hair, petting it back from my face. "Good boy," he said, and I tried to ignore the shiver of pleasure his words gave me.

After breakfast, Snape sent Ron and Hermione out to the garden to exercise, but kept me back. I knelt next to his desk as he did some paperwork. Snape clicked his fingers and pointed under his desk, moving his leg so that I could get by. I looked up at him, then at the dark space under his desk.

"Don't be obtuse, Modha. Get in there and get your mouth open; I don't have all day."

I felt myself flush, but crawled under the desk, turning in the small space so that I faced him. I could feel the cold wood on my arse, and my feet were crunched up under me. Snape moved his chair back, sliding his legs to either side of me. His robe, stretched across his knees, pressed me to the back of the small space. I heard him writing, the quill scratching above my head.

"Well?" he asked, the quill never pausing.

I slid my hands up his legs, pushing up the robe. His legs were pale, even in the dim light under the desk. He wasn't wearing trousers under the robe. I could smell him, the incense smell of the oil he used, and faint musk. No one could see me, not even Snape, and somehow the anonymity was comforting. This could be anyone I was touching, anyone... it could be Jericho, or Ron, or even somebody from the outside, some man that I wanted to touch, to suck.

I finally got the robe pushed up, bunching it at Snape's waist, freeing his cock. It was half hard. Anyone. This could be anyone. I started to build a picture in my head, a bloke I met at a club, who made me laugh and liked Quidditch, and I pictured him in my head, blond and tan, smiling. But his hair kept shifting to greasy black, and his smile became a sneer. My cock stiffened. I leaned forward, resting my head on his thigh, and touched it with hesitant fingers. It stiffened further, rising to meet my hand. I sighed, and his balls moved, shifting under the moving air. I watched the skin wrinkle, and leaned forward, breathing over him gently. The pen above me paused, and I felt his thigh twitch. His cock, fully hard, moved against my cheek.

I turned my head, putting my lips against the base of his cock, and exhaled. His cock twitched again.I almost smiled but turned the action into moving my lips against him, mouthing the hard cock. His smell was thick in my nose. Snape slid his hand under the desk, grabbing my hair, pulling my head up hard.

"While I appreciate the attempt, I hardly need seducing at this point. I know you enjoy the subtleties of fellatio, but must insist that you get on with it. Arzt will be here in a quarter hour, and I fully intend to be finished with this by then. Get to it

I clenched my teeth. Bastard. He pushed me down, and I opened my mouth, letting his cock slide across my tongue. Spit gathered at the corners of my mouth as he pressed further, his width opening my mouth. I changed the angle of my head, feeling him against the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, trying not to gag. Mid-swallow, he yanked my head as he thrust his hips, his cock overpowering my tongue and sliding into my throat. He gave a pleased grunt above me.

I gagged, then, and he let me pull back, his cock slick-sweet and slippery. I breathed through my nose, bracing my hands on his thighs as he thrust again.

He set the rhythm, and I followed it, my head bobbing, trying to lap at the shaft as it moved against my tongue His hand left my head, and dimly I could hear the scratching of his quill. Stung that he could just ignore me, I moved faster, twisting my head as I rose. The quill didn't stop. I grasped his cock with my hand, the other sliding down to roll his balls between my fingers. The quill paused, and then started again.

I pulled all the way back, taking a deep, wet breath, my lips raw and tingling. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and fitted it over his cock, moving slowly down, down, until it sat at the back of my mouth, tight against my throat. I sucked in a breath as well as I could, and tried to relax my throat.

My throat let him in, and he slid down suddenly.

Surprised, I pulled back, his thighs pressing against my arms. I tried again, and managed to get him a little bit deeper before pulling back. The third time I pushed as far as I could, and my lips pressed into the curly hair at his groin.

He groaned, the quill clattering to the desk as he put both hands on my head. He held me in place for a long moment. I wanted to gag, started to, but swallowed it, feeling my throat ripple around him. He moaned again, and victory burned in my belly.

I pulled back, and he let me, his stomach moving as he panted. Again and again I pushed my mouth over him, letting his cock into my throat, swallowing when I could. His balls twitched, tightening, and I could taste him, as I pulled back, saltier than before. I knew he was getting close.

On the next thrust he held my head again and moved his hips, shuddering back and fourth. I could feel the ridge of his cock as it moved in my throat. My stomach clenched as I fought to stay relaxed. He was making little noises above me, panting, and felt very hard between my lips.

He let me breathe, and then slid all the way back in until my lips pressed against his groin again, his cock as deep in my throat as it could be. He slid his hand down my face to my lips, stroking them where they met his body, and he started those tiny little thrusts again, but this time he didn't pull back right away. His thighs trembled around me, and I shut my eyes, riding with him, feeling as if time had slowed, as if the only thing I could do, could think about was this, his cock in my mouth, his hands on my head. I felt his balls twitch, the skin pulling tight.

Suddenly, he pulled me up, hand tight in my hair, leaving only the leaking head of his cock in my mouth. He stroked his shaft, the knuckles banging my chin, and I flicked my tongue over the head of his cock to the same rhythm.

His hips tensed, coming up off the chair, and I took a deep breath, gripping his tight balls as his hand sped up. He grunted once, twice, and his cock jerked in my mouth, come flooding out, coating my tongue and teeth. I swallowed once, twice, unintentionally tightening my hand around his balls. He yelped, another spurt washing my mouth, and I shut my eyes, tasting him, bitter on my tongue.

My cock was still hard.

Five minutes later I was washed and combed, waiting for Doc to pick me up. Snape looked unruffled, sitting calmly at his desk writing, as if i hadn't just sucked him off. I could still taste him, and I rubbed my tongue around my teeth, catching hints of the flavor. My cock, mostly soft, twitched under my loincloth.

Doc arrived precisely on time, and I followed him to the hatching rooms. We didn't stop by the nests this time, bypassing that room entirely to go to the darker room the naming ceremony had been in. I heard the children before I saw them, peeping and cawing, making an unholy ruckus.

Doc didn't come in, he just gave me a push and closed the door behind me. The baby Coraxis... weren't babies anymore. The were walking, clumsily flapping their wings, hopping and falling over as they tried to run around.

There you are, one of the Coraxis said. Brae has been looking for you. Sit?

I nodded, finding a large pillow to sit on. No sooner had I sat down than a three pound, half-meter tall ball of fluff hit me, cawing and flapping, rubbing the sides of his beak on my face. I pulled back, startled, but he only pushed his head against mine. His beak seemed large and sharp so close up. I cooed, and he made a weird cooing noise back, rubbing his head across my chest. His skin, under the soft puff of feathers, was blood hot. How I knew it was Brae, I dunno, but it didn't matter. He rubbed against me for a while, then toddled over to pick up a strange, incomprehensible toy out of a pile and bring it to me. I spent more than a half hour with him perched on my lap, showing me how to open the ball and get the soft lump of food out. No matter how many times he opened it, there was always another ball of grain inside. Once in a while, though, the toy would shiver and morph, so he had to figure it out all over again. I tried to solve it, at Brae's insistence, but I never did figure it out.

The other Coraxis tolerated my presence, but didn't talk to me. The babies moved around, squabbling and flapping, talking with the elders. Brae tried to talk to me, and when I couldn't caw or peep correctly, he reached up, scratching at my lips with his tiny hands as if to pull the words from me. I jerked back with a yelp, and he froze, and then his beak gaped open and he wailed, and there were large hands pulling him from my lap, pushing me away. I spent the rest of the hour huddled in the corner, licking my bleeding lips and looking away from the glaring adults.

Snape came and got me a while later. I didn't notice him at first, huddled in my corner as I was.

"How lovely. I see that you've decided to shuck this responsibility as well."

I looked up, my face sore. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He frowned, clacking a question at the adults, who stood between the children and me. One of them said something back.

The adults bowed to Snape, touching their fists to their beaks. The little ones looked around, and then they, too, touched tiny fists to their beaks.

I stood slowly, and faced him.

I made a fist and tapped my nose with it. He raised an eyebrow.

He gestured, and I went to him. He lifted my chin, touched the scratches across my lips. His frown didn't waver. He pulled his wand out and slid the tip over my lips, muttering, and I felt the tiny scratches close. My lips tingled as he finished, and I scraped my teeth over them, licking away the last of the blood. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and clicked his fingers, sweeping from the room. I followed.

He stopped me almost immediately.

"Can you at least make the attempt to convince me you've learned something, imbecile? How are you supposed to walk behind someone?"

I blushed, but moved a step back and to the right. He raised an eyebrow. I thought hard, remembering the section on what was called invisible service. I crossed my arms behind my back. He sighed and spun me around, physically moving my hands until I held the right position; crossed behind me, as flat to my back as I could get them, fingers curled around my elbows. It made my shoulders ache.

We didn't return to Snape's rooms. Instead he took me with him as he walked the castle, stopping at the various operations to talk to the overseers. I was surprised; other than the day he had taken us out disguised as birds, we hadn't been seen by many people in the castle. I tried very hard to not look around, tried to do nothing but watch the sweeping hem of his robe and stop before I ran into him. It was harder than it should have been, and I had to concentrate

So much, in fact, that I didn't notice we had arrived at the potion labs until Snape stopped. I stopped too, a pace behind, looking at his shoes.

I waited for Snape to begin to talk, to make the idle conversation or give orders, but nothing happened. The tension grew, and I risked a glance at who stood in front of us.

Fred's mouth hung open, and behind him I saw George, frozen in mid-step. They were staring at me in shock. Around us the potion lab bustled, cauldrons bubbling, fires popping. I couldn't look away, taking in their surprise and horror. I realized my body was marked, from teeth and tongues and canes and fists. I was a mess, something that I had gotten used to. But under their eyes I felt naked and exposed in my scant loincloth and tattoos.

They were nearly fully dressed, only their lack of shoes marking them as slaves.

"Messrs Weasley, I believe you were acquainted with this slave, before all this unpleasantness."

Fred nodded, shutting his mouth with a click.

"Yessir." George said, while Fred opened and shut his mouth a few more times, as if he was trying to start a difficult sentence.

"He goes by 'Modha' now, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure you have much to talk about. Unfortunately, Modha won't have much to say at all. Pity. I would like you to take him to the gymnasium; his companions will join him there. Fetch him some food while you're at it."

Snape turned away, leaving me with Fred and George. I stared at them, then looked back at Snape. He paused to talk to the lab overseer, gesturing at us, then left.

The lab bustled around us, though none of us moved. I didn't know what to say, and stared at the ground most of the time. Eventually, the tension grew too great, and I opened my mouth to say something-

Only for silence to come out. Damnit, Snape had taken my voice at some point. I scowled at my feet.

"Harr--Modha, um, would you like to come this way? We've been given leave to take you to the gym," George said, and I nodded. I followed them to a small door at the end of the lab, and watched Fred fish under his neckline and pull out a long necklace with a crow-shaped stone on it. He pressed the talisman to the door, and it opened.

"Me 'n Fred are section supervisors," George said, a touch of pride in his voice, "We can come and go as we please. Sort of." He held open the door for me, and I ducked under his arm. I could feel eyes on me as we left, and had that naked feeling again. I glanced behind me, and through the closing gap of the door I saw a handful of faces turned my way, faces marked with sweat and steam from standing over boiling cauldrons, faces I knew from my previous life.

My life. Before I was a slave.

I put my head down and followed the twins, arms still crossed behind me.

The walk wasn't long, but I could tell that Fred and George were taking the long way; we went up a set of stairs to walk down a long hallway, only to descend another set that put us across the way from the first staircase.

In minutes I had lost my way, even here in the castle. Gone were so many of the landmarks I remembered, the empty picture frames gaping like blind sockets. The castle felt vast and cold.

We went around another corner, and I knew where I was. This was the long hallway on the third floor, the one that we had come upon in our first year that led to Fluffy's chamber and the Philosopher's Stone.

I waited for the torches to light as I walked by, but they didn't. I touched one, and my hand came away coated in dust.

"Modha! Over here!" Fred said, his voice hushed and strained. I turned; they were crouching between two of the torches. George gripped a large stone and pulled it out of the way. The passage was dark.

I glanced around, nervously, and touched my throat, where the collar lay under my skin. Could Snape tell where I was? I didn't want to get them in trouble. I shook my head, motioning that we should move on.

George stopped, his face twisted in confusion.

"What you mean, no? We're just going to duck into here for a bit; Old Potionpants doesn't know about it. Secret club and all."

I shook my head harder. Suddenly, being caught by Snape while sneeking around seemed like a very, very bad idea. Would he beat me? Would he beat Ron, or Hermione instead? What if he refused to train us anymore, and just threw us to the Death Eaters at the Ball? I took a step back.

"Lay off, George. He's skeeved." Fred stood, dusting his robe. He crept toward me, hands held out in front of him. "It's alright, Modha. We don't have to go in. George, go get a bit of chocolate, will you? He looks like Snape doesn't feed him well enough."

George got the sweet, and handed me a piece. I looked at it, and then at them.

"Its ok. Snape said to get you something to eat. He didn't say what. That's good chocolate; we traded one of the girls up in Messaging for it. They've got connections, you know." George flicked his thumb across the tip of his nose.

I took a bite, closing my eyes. Oh god, chocolate. I hadn't had any for so, so long, and it melted over my tongue. It was wonderful. Normal and sweet and blindingly mundane. I wolfed down the rest of the bar, licking at my fingers where the chocolate had melted, sucking the taste from my skin. I moaned, silently. It had been so long.

Fred and George sat and watched me eat, murmuring to each other. I finished, licking my lips. I wanted more, but already the sugar was making me feel ill. I rubbed at my stomach with the back of one hand, and winced when I hit a particularly sore spot.

"So. How'd ya get all those bruises, mate?" Fred asked, and George elbowed him.

"Not that we're prying, mind you. Just curious."

I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer them, but it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t.

Do you know the sign language? I signed, and they didn't respond. I tried again, signing larger.

Fred shook his head. "Sorry, I don't understand. Sign language, huh? Did you always know that?"

I shook my head.

"Snape teach you?"

I shook my head harder, putting my finger to my lips.

"Ah, got it. Mebby he isn't as cowed as we thought, Fred," George said, and I scowled.

Fred shrugged, rubbing at his stained hands. "You've got to admit, mate, you did look pretty beat down, walking behind Snape, and that outfit of yours. Why he can't just give you all robes is beyond me He's got enough money coming in."

"Yeah, but he uses it constantly. If he had unlimited funds, we'd be working in new cauldrons."

Fred shrugged. "Anyway. I don't suppose there's any chance Ron is still with you?

I nodded, and his face brightened.

“Yeah? How is he?”

I gave him a look, and touched my throat.

"Right, right. Well, here, draw in the dust. There's enough of it about."

I squatted, scrawling my letters. My handwriting had never been stellar, but filling out endless rows of incomprehensible sums for Snape had improved it somewhat.

He's alright. But like me, not... like you, I wrote.

George glanced at his twin, and back at me. He seemed nervous. "He's not... mad at me, is he? For choosing Fred?"

I had to think about that. It had been so long.

Back at the beginning? I wrote. He nodded. Don't think so. Thinking about other things. Misses you. I had to move twice to get all the words in.

"Is he OK? I mean, has Snape-" he looked at me, and I stood, carefully obliterating all the words with my toes. I looked him for a long moment and then looked away. I heard his breath catch behind me, heard the brothers speak in low tones.

One of them touched my shoulder and I turned. Tears glittered in his eyes but didn't spill. He pulled me into a hug, and I went, if only to give him comfort. I felt a tear hit my face and slide down as he pulled back, running his sleeve over his face.

"We should go," he said, and I nodded.

It only took moments to get back to the rest of the castle, just out the door and down a flight of stairs. George stopped by the kitchen, bringing me a bowl of soup and some bread.

"All they had, I think," he said, and I thought of the Coraxis in the kitchen, how they had great baskets of food that they wouldn't give you unless you asked for it by name. I wondered why Fred and George didn't know the sign language. I ate the soup, dragging the bread over the dregs, licking at the rim.

The gymnasium turned out to be part of the old storage rooms, down almost at ground level. One wall had been knocked out, or at least moved, and spelled to look like the outside. The ceiling shone with magicked sunlight.

There were some vague exercise equipment; most of it not quite normal, as if someone had made it from a picture, without ever actually using it. A large pool took up most of the room, and around it ran a red dirt track. There were even showers and what looked like a door leading to a locker room. It reminded me very much of my early schooling, of the Muggle gym they had at my primary school. I stopped at the edge of the dirt track, staring across the pool. Ron and Hermione sat on the other side, dangling their feet in the pool, talking quietly. They were turned half away from us, and didn't see us come in.

Fred saw them first, and stopped. George made a sharp noise in his throat, and I looked up at him.

His face was terrible.

I looked back at Ron, and I saw him, really saw him, not as I was used to seeing him, every day, but as he must look to his brothers.

His hair was a bit too long, curling around his face. He was browned from all our time in the garden, his freckles running together in clumps across his shoulders and arms. He was thinner, harder, most of his baby fat burned off by exercise and work. I could even see some muscles, thickening his arms and shoulders. But his freckles weren't the only marks on him; bruises marched across his chest, down his hips. He had fresh welts coming up on his back, and a long scratch that I knew had come from my fingernails. I don't think they could see it, but he wore faint marks from my teeth, too, across his chest, down his belly. And there were perfect sets of fingerprint bruises on his thighs.

I clenched my fists and looked away.

“Ron?” George said, and I watched Ron's head whip around. He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he pulled some sore muscle, and Hermione bounced up, hands flying to her mouth. They stared, wide eyed, Ron's face draining of all color--and then Ron turned and ran, ran, escaping into the locker room. Hermione glanced at us, then after Ron, and back to me.

What do I do? She signed, and I shrugged.

Go after him. I'll take care of them. I jerked my head at the twins.

She nodded, lifting one hand to the twins and giving them a little wave before following their brother.

Fred made a soft, choked noise, and I glanced at him. His face crumpled in like wet paper, and he turned away, pressing his face into George's shoulder.

“He didn't want to talk to us?” George managed finally, and I shrugged. I couldn't tell him why Ron had run, even if I had the voice to do so. I thought it had to do with the way he looked, what he had been through. But it was Ron, and it could just as well have been because George chose Fred, all those months ago.

George's face seemed to shut down, and he wrapped his arms around his twin, tucking his head down. I looked away, giving them what privacy I could. I could just see Hermione's arm as she signed at Ron in the locker room, but I couldn't see what she was saying.

There was a soft buzz, and Fred jerked away from George, pulling out his supervisor’s talisman, which buzzed again, flashing green. He wiped his face with the neck of his robe, wrestling a bright, fake smile onto his face.

“Right. Well then. That’s our cue to head back. We've done what we were told to, and should get back to work. Potions to brew, you know.”

I nodded, not smiling. George rubbed his fingers over his neck, trying for some kind of halfway cheerful expression. It didn't work, and Fred's fake smile melted away. They looked at me, faces drawn, and I thought that they looked older, older than they had just a little while ago.

“Modha,” George said, eventually. “Will you... Will you give him this, at least?” He held out a large piece of chocolate, wrapped in a bit of green cloth. I nodded.

“And tell him I'm sorry, will you?” he said, and I nodded again, wanting to console them and having no way to do it.

The necklace buzzed again, and Fred pulled at George’s sleeve.

“We've got to go. It... it was nice seeing you, Modha.” he said, and then they turned and were gone. The door shut behind them with a soft thud.

I rubbed my fingers over the chocolate, feeling it soften with the heat, and went to deliver it to Ron.


	9. Chapter 9

That morning, Ron bit Snape instead of taking the food from his fingers.

Snape pulled his hand back, cradling the bleeding fingers against his chest, staring down at Ron for a moment. I held my breath, stomach clenched.

I could hardly breathe I was so nervous. Ron just sat there, blood dripping from his lip, hands clenched in his lap. I swallowed, the sound seemed loud in the silence.

"Taru, go to the vindicta."

Ron didn't move.

"Did you hear me, boy?" Snape's voice dropped, cold and hard. "I told you to go to the vindicta." Snape stepped closer to Ron, reaching out with the bleeding hand, but pausing before it got to Ron's bent head.

He waited another long moment, then his hand slid into Ron's hair, leaving a bloody streak. He tipped Ron's head back, staring down into the tense face. His other hand pulled back, slowly.

I winced at the crack of his hand against Ron's cheek, but Ron didn't react. Another slap, this time harder, and I could see Ron begin to tremble. I bit back a plea.

The third slap broke through Ron's field of stillness, and suddenly Snape had an armful of fighting, yelling boy. Ron flailed, kicked, screamed obscenities, all with his eyes screwed shut and his lips dripping blood.

Hermione and I scrambled out of the way as his motions tumbled Snape to the floor, but Snape didn't let go, didn't do anything but hold Ron's head by the hair and fend off the worst of the blows with his other. A kick caught Snape in the shins, and he growled softly, rolling so that his legs trapped Ron's, trapping Ron's arms against the stone.

Ron stilled, his chest heaving. I could hear his breath sawing in and out. Snape waited a moment, then took his hand off Ron's arms. Ron didn't move.

"Are you done? Because I believe it's time for your lesson this morning, and you just unwittingly volunteered to be the demonstration."

Ron nodded weakly, and Snape surged to his feet, pulling Ron with him by his hair. He pushed Ron down the hall, grabbing a potion off the shelf as he did.

"Bili, Modha, get in here," he snapped, and we hurried after them.

The big bed had been moved to the side of the room, and the padded leather bench I remembered from my first trip here sat dead center. Snape efficiently pushed Ron over it, buckling the straps tightly. Ron didn't fight him.

"You two, kneel, there, and be quiet." We knelt, the stone cold on my knees. "Taru is going to demonstrate how to take pain, and then you each will get a chance to try. And just in case you feel the need to rise to his defense, don't." He flicked his wand behind us, and something slithered around my arms, binding them to my back. I jerked, surprised, but more ropes slid around my chest and legs and climbed up my head to wind around my chin. I recognized the curtain ties from the bed, fat black and gold cords that glistened faintly in the firelight.

"Open your mouth even once and the ropes will gag you. I will not be disturbed during this.”

I swallowed, feeling the rope ride my throat.

Snape stalked around Ron, adjusting straps and touching him here and there. His hand left slick smears of red on Ron's freckled back.

"Did Modha tell you about his time over this bench, Taru? He made me bleed as well... and paid for it in kind. And the lesson he learned will hopefully be the one you learn... though he has a natural predilection for it, and we will, if you will excuse the cliché , have to beat it into you."

"Today's lesson? Enjoying pain." And he raked his nails down Ron's back. I could hear the rasp of nails from where I knelt, and Ron whimpered. Snape crouched by his head and spoke to him softly, hand soft and loose on his shoulder.

I looked over at Hermione. She had that 'figuring out a puzzle' look on her face, but looked very pale anyway. I wanted to sign to her, but my hands were caught tight in the rope.

Snape moved away, and I watched him pour the potion over his bleeding fingers, watched him tense and shake the blood-tainted drops away. They glistened where they hit the stones. He wiped his hand on his trousers.

By the time he got back to Ron, I was breathing hard. This was going to be bad, I knew it. I remembered being over that bench, remembered the way the fear coiled and sang in my belly, remembered the way Snape worked me up until I couldn't think.

And it was bad. Snape started with his hand, smacking lightly at Ron's ass, making him jump with every strike. Slowly, slowly, the strikes got harder, and I could see the spots that got the most attention go from pink to red as Snape continued.

"You should be grateful, you know," Snape said, pausing for a moment with his hand resting on Ron's lower back. "By the time we're done here, by the night of the Ball, this will be nothing. Nothing." He punctuated the statement by bringing his hand down hard on Ron's ass, the crack echoed by Ron's yelp.

Snape shook his hand as he lifted it, and a hand print bloomed on Ron's skin, the tips of the fingers shading dark. Ron sighed against the bench, his feet twisting and moving against the padded footrest.

The sound of metal and leather made me turn my head, and I watched, dry mouthed, as Snape slid his belt from it's typo, its loops. He doubled it and held it between his hands, cracking it once. All three of us jumped.

He rubbed it across Ron's ass, back and forth, up and down. Ron whimpered, shifting his ass away.

"Now, now, Taru, that's no way to behave. You just have to lie there and take it, that's all. It will be over soon, and then you can rest. But right now you don't have a choice. Remember that; if you don't have a choice about taking the pain, then let it go. No use fighting it when you have no other option..."

He turned the belt, sliding it between Ron's cheeks and rubbed it up and down, his knuckles brushing Ron's balls. I shivered.

Ron's face was screwed up, flinching at every touch.

Snape pulled the belt back, letting go of the folded part and trailing it slowly across Ron's ass. "Ready?" he said, and didn't wait for an answer, just brought the belt down sharply.

Ron yelped, his hands clenching tight against the bench. A white stripe came up on his ass, quickly becoming red.

Snape waited a long moment, and then struck quickly, over and over, the belt smacking again and again. Ron was squirming, crying out, his body in constant motion against the bench, his back arched, trying to pull his arse away. I sucked in breath through my nose, flinching and twitching along with Ron. His ass grew red, but that first strike stood out against the rest, dark red and raised.

I realized, suddenly, that Snape wasn't hitting him all that hard. He had shortened the loop of belt, and only hit him with short strokes, but they were coming so quickly that Ron reacted as if every one was a long, hard stripe. I tipped my head, breathing a bit easier.

Not that I found this easy to watch, but... well, it just wasn't as it could have been.

Snape accioed something, his arm never pausing. It had a handle and a bunch of long, soft looking tails. He abruptly stood back and the next strike didn't come with the belt, but this new instrument.

I could feel the wind from its passing from where I knelt and goosebumps came up.

Ron gasped as it hit him with a dull thwaping noise. He shivered all over as Snape hit him again, this time backhanded. I saw his back relax, heard him thud back down onto the bench. His yelps had dissolved into panting, soft whimpers..

"This," Snape said, swinging the black tails over his head to come down on Ron's other side, "is a flogger. Rather mundane, only deerskin, but we can't always have the best, now, can we?" He punctuated that with a harder strike, across Ron's back rather than his ass, and Ron groaned loudly.

Something changed about how Snape hit Ron, and now Ron's noises weren't the sharp, pained yelps from before. Snape swung the flogger in a figure eight, hitting Ron rhythmically. Color spread up Ron's back and shoulders.

Snape started to hit harder on every other strike, thumpTHUMP, thumpTHUMP, and now Ron was arching into the strikes rather than away, mouth open and eyes still screwed tight. His groans had become wet, long sighs, and each breath he took shook him.

Snape switched hands deftly, and shrugged out of his robe one shoulder at a time, tossing the cloth away. He wasn't wearing a shirt under the robe, just his black trousers. His hair stuck to his neck. I felt myself getting harder.

Longer, overhand strokes now, the flogger hitting Ron hard enough that the thwap had become a deep thud against him, and now I could see the sweat running down Snape's back, matching the sweat beading across Ron's arms. Ron's hair darkened and curled, growing wet. The chill I had first felt from the flogger had faded into the heat of the room, and I could feel myself begin to sweat, too.

A particularly hard strike made Ron moan, and it broke into a incoherent babble. "God, oh god, god, please, please..."

Next to me, Hermione made a choked noise, and I shot her a glance.

She must have tried to open her mouth at some point, because the fat black rope was stretched between her teeth, her lips pulled back around it. Her eyes were glued to Ron, and her cheeks were pink. Her nipples were hard, too.

And that's all I needed. I knew this feeling, had been there, on the bench, Snape working me into some kind of frenzy, his hand and his voice and the pain, and was hard and aching. The room stank of sweat and leather and fire.

Snape switched hands again, and then looked over his shoulder at me.

"Modha, up," he said, and the ropes fell away at his gesture. I struggled to stand, my cock waving in the air.

Snape clicked his fingers, and pointed to a spot beneath the bench. I slid closer, careful to go around the still swinging flogger. He nudged me into place with his foot, and I saw that Ron's cock, hard and red as the rest of him, hung through a opening in the bench.

"Get your mouth to work, boy. This won't take long."

I licked my lips, nervous. "Don't make me ask again, Modha. You are next, you know."

I gulped, hard, and knelt up under the bench, sliding my mouth around just the head of Ron's cock. His voice broke on a plea, and I could just barely see his hand, tied to the bench, twitch.

"Please, please, god, yes, please, I need, I need," and I sucked him down, moaning myself, his cock hard and wet already, the flavor of him washing into my mouth. I could feel each strike as it traveled down his back into his cock and onto my tongue.

I curled closer to the bench, wanting more of him than I could get.

"That's it, Taru, ask him, ask Modha to suck you off."

"Please, please Modha, please suck me god, god, please!" Ron, asking me, begging me, and I couldn't take this, I couldn't. My cock hurt it was so hard.

The strikes suddenly sped up, thumping harder and faster, and I could hear Ron's begging start to brake. I sucked hard, daring to get my hand up to touch his balls, but something crashed across my fingers, and I pulled them back, startled. My fingers burned from the strike. Snape struck again, angling the flogger between Ron's legs, the tails snapping across Ron's balls, and he screamed, come jetting hard into my mouth, again and again as Snape whipped him there, and I moaned myself, pressing the heel of my burning hand into my lap as I came, helplessly, Ron's come and sweat dripping down my face.


	10. Chapter 10

****

Long hours later, Snape left us in the vindicta, saying nothing. The door swung shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. I didn't lift my head; it was too heavy.

At least, it felt too heavy. I felt like my body weighed a million pounds, and I sighed a bit, dozing again.

I woke to someone touching my shoulder. Ron crouched next to me, the firelight behind him making his skin glow.

"Come on, Modha, get up. There's a nice comfy bed over there." He pulled a little at my arm, and I groaned. My back still burned, hot and tight. The bites along my shoulders twinged with the movement as I pushed myself up, the stone floor digging into my bruised knees.

Ron got me standing, even though I was wobbly. He pushed me toward the bed. I stumbled, but managed to get up onto the soft black cover. The fabric was cool against my hot back. Hermione lay curled up on the far side, a pillow gripped to her chest. She looked like she was asleep. I tried not to wake her as I wiggled up the cushions, propping myself up carefully against the carved headboard.

I watched Ron as he roamed the room, checking cabinets (locked) and doors (also locked.) He noticed that I hadn't gone back to sleep and stopped his restless pacing.

"Do you want some water?"

"Sure," I said, and my voice croaked. I coughed a little.

He got me a glass of water, and sat on the bed as I drank it. He was watching me very closely.

"Modha, I... I didn't understand, before. I mean..." he looked away, then sighed. "I mean, about the whole... pain thing. It's not like I said."

"Like you said?" I furrowed my brow. I had no clue what he was talking about.

"I thought... I thought you were sick for liking it. I didn't know."

I blushed at that. Yeah, Snape had done a number on all of us. Ron had responded, violently, but... well, so had I. After Snape realized that I had come from sucking Ron off (though, really, that wasn't what had made me come, but I didn't want to think about it,) he had hauled me up and put me over his knee, spanking me like a child until I sobbed into his trouser leg. Only then had he tied me to the bench and given me my own flogging, working me up hard. I remember that somebody had sucked me off, but I couldn't remember who. I couldn't remember much.

I knew that Snape had a harder time with Hermione, and that I had fallen asleep at some point while he slowly, slowly worked her over, first with the flogger and then with a paddle. I had woken to her yelp of pain, and opened blurry eyes to watch Snape pinch and roll her nipples hard between his fingers. Ron was between her thighs, held in place by Snape's knee on the back of his head. She was sobbing.

After that... Snape decided I needed a repeat performance, apparently. This time he just used his fingers and mouth, pinching and scratching and biting me. And then, to top it off, when I was writhing around his teeth in my shoulder, he had brushed the tattoo on my lower back and pushed his cock into my suddenly slick asshole, his fingers pinching hard at my nipple.

And if I thought that I had come hard before, being fucked while pumping into Jericho's willing body, this was a whole new world, the pain of his teeth in my shoulder and his fingers on my nipple and his cock driving into me whiting out my brain. I don't remember anything past that.

Ron picked at the bed covering, not looking at me. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed that he had said that all those days ago, or that he had just been proved wrong. I chewed my lip for a moment.

"It's all right," I said finally, not knowing what else to say. I touched the back of his hand.

"Yeah?" He looked up, his mouth twitching into a wry grin. "Course you're going to say that. What else are you going to say?"

"I-"

"He could say that Snape is a cold-hearted bastard that should burn in hell," Hermione said, her voice flat. I twisted around to look at her, surprised she was awake.

"Well, I kinda thought that was a given," Ron said, flopping down onto the bed. The welts on his back were dark red against his skin, which was almost back to its normal pale. Under the welts four long scratches ran along his spine. The marks from Snape's nails.

I wondered what my back looked like.

Hermione was still curled around her pillow, but she uncurled enough that I could see that she had been crying.

"Don't cry, Bili," I said, scooting closer to her, and I felt stupid as soon as I said it. Why shouldn't she cry? Damn Snape.

She swiped her hand over her face and sat up, suddenly. "I'm not... Not anymore, at least. And I've decided something."

Ron and I shared a look.

"What?" Ron said, sitting up.

"That I'm not going... I'm not going to be what he wants. I'm not going to be some timid, repressed little...girl he can just do stuff to," she said, thumping the pillow.

"Um... all right, but how-" I started, but was cut off when she launched herself at me, grabbing at my scabbing shoulders and pulling my mouth to hers.

She tasted like salt.

She kissed my viciously, thrusting her tongue into my mouth, grinding our lips together. I felt my lip split on one of her teeth, the pain a hot little flash down my stomach. I tried to back up, to pull away, but she had her fingers in my hair, and twisted me closer, mouth open and wet. I gasped softly into her kiss.

Ron made some kind of noise, and she pulled back, her eyes bright and a smear of my blood on her chin.

"Bili, you don't have to-" Ron said, but her hand clamped over his mouth, her fingers denting his cheeks.

"Yes, exactly. I don't have to." She pulled her hand away to kiss him deeply, crawling into his lap, her legs twining around him. She pulled back with a slick noise. "Now, you have a choice, you both do. I want to have sex, right now... But I'm not him, and I'm not just going to do it without asking you. So, do you want to?"

Ron squeaked, but didn't seem to be able speak for a second. "Which one of us?" he managed, his voice high.

Her brow furrowed. "Both of you, of course. Don't be obtuse, Taru." She leaned in again, licking his cheek. I saw his eyes glaze.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," I said, despite the fact that my cock had stiffened, just a little. Her back wasn't as red as Ron's, but I could see a row of red teeth marks in her breast. She had been worked over just as hard as we had, maybe harder, and here she was, groping Ron, trying to convince me that this was what was best for her.

She turned her head to look at me, her hair falling in curls around her ears, her eyes wide and a little wild. "Please, Modha, this might be our only chance. Snape's not here, he's not making us do this... please, let me have one thing that I want."

How could I argue with that?

She went back to kissing Ron, who hadn't answered her directly, but his hands were cupped around her waist, his lips moving against hers. All the answer she needed, I supposed. I licked my bleeding lip, the taste bright and copper-sharp.

I tapped Ron's feet, and he spread them, giving me room to get inbetween them, up close to her back. I carefully stroked my fingers down her skin, feeling the welts and scratches, the knobs of her spine, the faint, soft hair. She moaned into Ron's mouth. I slowly leaned in, letting my chest touch her back, my chest sore from Snape's fingers. I rubbed my nose along the back of her neck.

She twisted her head around, pulling me into her with an arm thrown around my neck. Her mouth was wet and she tasted like Ron. I licked at the roof of her mouth. She sucked at my bleeding lip.

She suddenly gasped into my mouth, arching backward. I opened my eyes to see Ron stroking her bitten breasts, his fingers soft on the marks, tracing them in a spiral up to her nipples. I slid my hands under her arms, around her ribcage, catching the soft weight of her breasts in my hands. Her head rolled to rest on my shoulder as I held her breasts up to Ron. I felt his legs shift against mine as he leaned down, licking at her nipple. She gasped and arched into his touch.

I held her like that, my hands offering Ron her breasts, my shoulders taking her weight, for a long time. My cock painted a wet stripe on her skin. Ron sucked and licked at her until she begged him to stop, pulling his head away. I dared drop my hand into her lap, sliding it down the faintly damp skin of her belly, touching her pubic hair. I pushed lower, wanting to touch her... and encountered Ron's hand, already rubbing at her quim.

Together we rubbed her, stroked her... and both of our fingers sank into her at the same time. The back of my hand rubbed against Ron's cock. She writhed against him, panted into my mouth, working her hips faster than we cold move our hands. In fact, she reached down and held our hands still.

"More," she panted, and Ron shifted, pushing another finger into her. She grunted, her hips moving again, but she didn't let go of our wrists. She held them tighter, harder, her small fingers digging into my skin. I could smell her. Our hands grew wet, slick, and Ron thrust softly against the back of my hand, sliding in her wetness. He moaned.

She pushed up onto her knees, rocking hard on us, her hand moving ours exactly as she wanted it. Her eyes were clenched shut, her forehead furrowed. We could have been the furniture for all she noticed who, or what, we were.

My hand started to cramp, and I twitched my finger. She yelped, and clamped hard onto my finger, her hips snapping. The cramp curled my hand tight anyway, and I groaned as she yelled and came around our fingers, her voice breaking.

She slumped, her hand finally letting go, and I pulled my hand from her body with a cry. I slid backwards, letting him take her weight. I rubbed the cramp out of my hand, smoothing her wetness into my hand.

He looked over and started to laugh. "I wondered what you were doing. Hand go bad on you?" He laughed again, easing both of them over onto their sides. She looked out of it.

"Shut up. You weren't doing anything, either."

"Nope. Letting her do all the work. Girls like that sometimes, you know." He pushed hair off of his damp forehead, blowing air up his face to cool himself. His cock twitched, hard against his hip.

I smacked the closest part of him, which happened to be his knee. "Thank you, Don Juan."

He smirked at me, rubbing his hand up his hip. It left a slick, shiny trail. "That was pretty good, though. Yeah?"

I sighed. "Yeah, it was brilliant... until my hand cramped." I glanced over at her, but she panted quietly, not saying anything.

"You've just got to practice. Too much up and down." He gestured obscenely, working his fist in the air.

"And you don't?" she said, lifting her head. Her cheeks were flushed. "I've seen you do it too many times to deny it, Taru. Don't taunt Modha, it's not nice." She dropped her head back down with a sigh, then rolled it to look at me. "You did fine. I'm sorry your hand cramped." She looked away for a moment, then forced her eyes back up to mine. "You did just fine."

I blushed and wondered why her words still embarrassed me. I had just been touching her, had my finger up inside of her, and here I was blushing because she said she liked it?

She stretched, her back arching. I watched her toes point and flex. Her toenails were trimmed and neat.

"Well, that was good for me, but you two are still unsatisfied," she said, sitting up. She tucked her feet under her, sitting cross legged. "Which one of you wants me?"

The way she said it, so casual, so off handed, made me groan.

"You can't just... orchestrate this," he said, his eyes wide again.

"And why not? I can do whatever I want." She tipped her head, her brow furrowed in a familiar way. Problem solving. "Modha hasn't been with a woman, right?"

I shook my head.

"So... He can have me, and Taru... you haven't had a boy, have you?"

I shut my eyes, seeing where this was going. My stomach clenched. Something in me whispered that this was a very, very bad idea... but it wasn't my cock. My cock was delighted at the prospect.

"Um... No?" he was saying, and I cracked open my eyes to catch his faintly puzzled expression. He didn't get it.

"Bili," I said, rubbing my hand over my face, "I don't know if this is a good idea..."

She harrumphed, and crawled up over to me. "And why not? If we're this uncomfortable with each other, then how are we going to deal with other people? Snape's little manual made it quite clear that it's going to be us serving at the ball, and that says to me that we're going to have to be active partners. We're not going to be able to just lie back and think of England."

She set her hand in the center of my chest, pushing me down onto the bed. "So, if you can't stand me... us touching you, how are you going to be able to stand them touching you? Right, Taru?"

He nodded, faintly, his eyes on her hand as it rand up and down my chest. "Sure, that's right."

"So, Taru, why don't you come over here and touch him? I want to try something."

He nodded again and slid over to us, curling up on my other side. His hand hovered over my skin for a moment, then Hermione made a little frustrated noise and grabbed his hand, pulling it down so that his palm smacked into my nipple.

I hissed; that nipple still ached from Snape's attention. His eyes shot to mine, and then glanced down to my cock, which hadn't gone any softer. He looked back up at me, his eyes darkening. He deliberately ground his palm into my chest, and I blew hard through my nose, my eyes sliding shut.

"Keep your eyes shut, Modha, all right?" Bili said, and I nodded, throwing my arm over my eyes for good measure.

Hands. Hands sliding down my ribcage, up my shoulders, across my chest. Warm and soft and quick, heavy and slow, touching and rubbing and stroking. I gasped as someone flicked over my nipple, then moaned as the other nipple was flicked as well. Flicking turned to rubbing turned to plucking, and I moaned, the touches making me shift and arch into their hands.

A large hand planted itself on my chest, holding me still, and then the soft plucking turned harsh, fingers catching and twisting both nipples hard. I yelped, trying to sit up, to twist away. Pain shot down my body, making my cock jump. I ached.

Wetness replaced pain on one nipple, the other following a moment later. Soft, sweet touches, soothing and rasping slowly across my swollen flesh. I panted though the lingering pain, the touch of their tongues almost painful in its own way, the pleasure thick and hot. My body ached.

The mouths moved suddenly; one sliding up to lick at my neck and tongue the scabbed bites on my shoulders, the other sliding down, wetting a stripe on my stomach and dipping into my navel. I shifted on the bed, and the hand holding my chest still pressed hard in warning.

"Don't move, Modha," Taru said into my shoulder, his breath cooling the skin he had licked, "Let her do what she wants. Just... let us..." and then his mouth was on my neck, sucking and biting. I relaxed against the bed, letting my head fall to the side, letting them do whatever they wanted.

Her mouth found my cock, pressed up against my stomach, and she licked at it, tiny soft strokes of her tongue that I could barely feel and that I felt everywhere, and I groaned, my hips arching.

She wrapped her hand around me, squeezing tightly, and I stopped breathing for a moment. I could feel her, breathing over the head of my cock, and burned, waiting.

A long, still moment, and then she sucked me into her mouth, her lips closing just under the head.

"Oh god," I said, my eyes flying open. I tried to sit up, but Taru still held me down, and then his lips were on mine, and he was kissing me, his tongue stroking mine like Bili's was stroking my cock, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I kissed him back roughly, desperate and hungry.

Too soon she pulled away, and I keened into his mouth, wanting her back.

"Shhhhh. Modha. Just... keep your eyes closed, ok?" Bili said, and I nodded weakly, my mouth filled with him. He tasted like sweat and leather, and he mashed his nose against mine. Bili moved across my knees, her hands pressed hard on my hips. Taru shifted his mouth away from mine, and for a moment nothing happened.

I felt his breath catch and tensed, waiting.

Taru wrapped his hand around my cock, holding it hard, and Bili sat down on it.

I gasped, my eyes flying open as I sank inside her.

"Shh, it's ok, it's ok, just.." and she didn't say anything more, just put her hands against my chest and rocked. My eyes closed again, helplessly.

Taru still held me, his hand a tight band below her softness. I could feel slick wetness seeping between his hand and my cock, and my hips tried to thrust. I could hear him murmuring to Bili, but couldn't make it out. Too much, too quiet, and I slid my hands up Bili's knees, cupping them as she worked herself on me.

For a while I felt only heat and wetness, her body above me, his hand slowly twisting beneath her... and then something else, something sliding down around my balls, sliding to where her wetness slid across me and onto the bed. I lifted my head.

Taru kissed Bili like he kissed me, open, wet. I thrust a bit harder, watching them. She arched, pulling her mouth from his, and a long string of spit connecting connected their lips. He looked up at me, his cheeks pink, his lips red. His eyes caught mine, held... as his finger slid over my asshole.

I groaned, not really believing we were doing this, but I shifted my knee, opening myself for him. He pressed, and slid inside.

The feel of her around me and him slowly moving his finger inside me almost ended it, right there, but she tightened her hands on my chest, digging her nails in.

"Not yet," she said, breathless, "Not yet, you can't yet... Here, wait. Taru, move," and just like that, he pulled away.

I whimpered, body rocking after his touch.

"Soon, soon," she said, and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me up, up, and over until we toppled forward, together. My cock slipped out and slid, wet, cooling against her thigh. I thrust against her, helpless, seeking, and her clever hand slid between us, pulling me back into place. We both groaned when I slid back inside her. Taru moved behind me, pressing soft, tentative kisses along my shoulder, his hands rubbing warmly down my back to cup my ass. He pressed himself to my back, his hard cock digging into my hip.

"Yes?" he said into my neck, and I nodded, wordless.

His hand slid down to where I thrust into her, running two fingers into the wetness, rubbing the base of my cock, rubbing at her clit, sliding them back behind my balls, back and back until they slid inside me, easy as the words that spilled from my lips.

"God, yes, please, fuck me,please fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck," and he then he did, his cock pushing me forward, pushing me into her, making me pant and gasp into her throat. He bit at the back of my neck, and I arched, pushing back into his touch, forward into hers, caught between them as they fucked me.

Around me, under me, inside me, and I came, dissolving away between them.


	11. Chapter 11

Snape found us like that, curled like puppies in the big bed, my hands still buried in Bili's hair, Taru's breath warm on the back of my neck.

He stood by the bed, leaning on one of the posts. I tensed, and felt Taru shift behind me.

Snape jerked his head sideways, and motioned me to be quiet. I untangled myself from the warm nest, carefully moving Taru so he curled around Bili. They sighed and shifted, but didn't wake. Snape waved me into one of the chairs that appeared by the fire. I sat, gingerly.

Snape downed a glass of wine in a few thick gulps and set the glass down sharply on the table.

“I see that you are not completely stupid,” he said, and I frowned at him. “You didn't waste the time I gave you. Good. There will be precious little time for that in the coming days.”

I frowned again.

“Don't be deliberately dense, boy. Do you you were getting away with something?” He laughed, soft and mean. “I'm sure you did. In any case, it is done, and hopefully now the three of you will focus on your training. We don't have much time. Wake your companions and bathe thoroughly. I'll not have you reeking while we work. I'll meet you in the front room in a quarter hour.”

It took me almost that long to get them up, but we managed a quick scrub before bolting into the room, wet hair straggling into our eyes.

Snape sat, as usual, at his desk. He had another glass of wine. His quill moved sharply over a clipboard, checking off items. A few Coraxis stood next to his desk, holding papers or scrolls, clacking quietly at each other.

"Here," Snape said, thrusting a scroll out without looking up, "This goes to Histrix. And find out how many slaves he's actually bringing; there's no way he's coming here with just six."

A Coraxis took the scroll and saluted sharply, turning away.

It put the scroll longways between its hands and made a sharp clapping motion, and the scroll just... blinked out. It tipped its head this way and that and then nodded at the empty air and turned back to Snape, who waited, his fingers restless on his wineglass.

"Well?"

The coraxis croaked an answer, and Snape's eyebrows shot up.

"Twenty-five? Dear god, they're like locusts. All right, have Mecurais empty out the west stables. Histrix can put them in there. I'll give him the blue suite, that'll be just enough room for him and the six he said he would bring." He shook his head and made another note on his clipboard.

He drained his glass and turned to get more, finally noticing us kneeling on the stone.

"You're still wet," he said, frowning. I didn't point out that we barely had time to wash at all, though I flicked my eyes to the timepiece over the fireplace. He caught the motion and smirked at me.

"Oh, so you were on time. You did the minimum, boy, and nothing more. Your customers will expect more than that, I'm afraid. Still," he said, sliding his wand out of his sleeve, "You did manage to get here on time, and I suppose you've had quite enough punishment for today." He flicked the wand at us, and the water boiled off our skin; an instant of pain before we were dry.

Bili cried out in her throat, but didn't let it escape.

Snape dismissed the coraxis and flipped a few pages on his clipboard, checking off items again. My knees began to ache on the stone. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Taru's forearm, and the mark my teeth had left there.

I shut my eyes, shuddering, remembering the taste of him between my teeth as he thrust hard into me, the noise he made, how the harder I bit the harder he thrust, until his skin had split under the grind of my teeth and his fingers bruised my hips as he jerked my back into him...

Bright light burst behind my eyes as Snape slapped me, my head rocking to the side. He caught my hair, keeping me from falling backwards. I looked up at him, my eyes watering.

"Were you having a nice daydream, Modha? Your cock certainly thought so..." He nudged my cock with the toe of his boot. "Ah, to be young, with all the inconvenient reactions that come with it. Control your body, boy, or I will control it for you." He pushed me away, and I fell backwards, cracking my elbow on the stone.

I scrambled back to my knees, trying to will my cock down. It didn't work; my cheek burned and Snape continued to glare at me, and somehow the two combined into a hot thread that pulled my cock harder, despite my will.

Next to me, I could see Taru's cock starting to stiffen.

Snape looked back and forth between us, his glare twisting into an amused smirk.

"That's just lovely, the pair of you." He flicked his wand again, and I gasped, arching forward as something caught up my balls and cock and wound around them, tightening. Taru groaned, grabbing at his cock. My cock stood out, flushed red, the hair flattened down around the base. I couldn't see anything there, but I could feel it. I shifted my knees farther apart.

"There. Now I control when you go soft, as you were unable to do it yourself. Whenever you're unable to control yourself, I will. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my cock throbbing.

He clicked his fingers at us, and we followed him out into the castle.

And then our training really began.

****

The next two weeks passed in a sweat soaked blur. I learned more about my body in those two weeks than I had in 17 years of life, and most of it I could have gone without knowing.

I learned that I could suck cock well enough that it made Jericho pass out. I learned that, if motivated enough, I could dance. I learned that I could come, and come hard, just from pain, if I got it from a skilled person.

And I learned exactly how far I could push myself.

There is a limit to how much a body can take, and another to how much a mind can take, and that the difference between those two limits is the point that Snape took me to every day.

A few times he took me beyond it.

One of those times, as I sat huddled in the bath, my arms wrapped around my shaking body, he extinguished all the torches and sat next to me, his face hidden in the shadows. He touched my hair, stroked my back, his fingers warm on my clammy skin.

"W-wh-why?" I managed, and his hand stilled, cupping the back of my neck.

"Because I have to. Because you can take it. Because I can."

And he sat with me until the shaking stopped.

As the days went on, it took more and more to push me over that edge. I hardened under the frequent blows, learned to breathe through the pain. I grew used to the sex, to being constantly naked, to Snape demanding things of me that two weeks ago I would have balked at. I changed, shaped by Snape's attention.

Taru and Bili changed too, but it happened so slowly I didn't notice.

I wondered if they noticed me changing, but we fell into bed every night far too exhausted to talk about it.

Later, I would only recall a few specific moments, ones that stood out against the blurred background of sex. Taru, arching backward as I slid a wet finger into him. Bili, panting, as she ground down onto Snape. The moment that Snape told us we'd be entertaining strangers, and the punch-to-the-stomach feeling when six men walked into the room.

Kneeling with Bili and Taru, mouths open, sucking down whomever came close enough. The feeling of come dripping off of my chin, sliding down my wet chest. The smell of it in my nose.

We were soaked in sex, mired in it. We learned everything that Snape had to teach, and whatever the other slaves had to teach, as well. I learned how to fuck as well as to be fucked, how to suck cock as if I loved it, couldn't get enough of it.

Some things became easier. Sex, itself, became meaningless; I learned to divorce my mind from it, even as my hips continued to thrust, my hands continued to pinch.

Once sex became nothing more than an exercise, Snape turned us to other tasks. Well... the sex didn't stop, but our lessons weren't about it anymore. Instead we learned all the tricks of seduction, of being a polished whore; I could go from panting and writhing to conversing about the weather at a click of Snape's fingers, and back again at a look.

I had another task, as well. Every day I spent a few hours with Brae, up in the tower, surrounded by the dry, sweet smell of the Coraxis. I could hardly believe how fast he changed, growing larger and smarter every time I saw him. He could talk, now, and understood why I couldn't, though at the beginning he still threw tantrums when he couldn't get me to crow. We could communicate with the sign language, and the other guardians seemed to accept me, telling me of their culture, their history.

I filled it all away, though every bit of information they gave me made me more confused. They spoke of generations of Coraxis, of hundreds of eggs hatching in these very rooms. I couldn't figure out how much time they meant, couldn't figure out how long a generation was... but it had to be more than the time I remembered.

There was something I wasn't getting, and I couldn't quite figure it out. But I didn't have time to think about it, not really. On the wall of Snape's room hung a calendar the days spelled to mark themselves out. A bright circle marked the night of the ball, and every night I fell into bed, we slid one day closer.


	12. Chapter 12

The morning of the ball dawned cold and wet, and my eyes tracked the faint light as it grew in the room. I hadn't slept. I don't think any of us had.

The night before, Snape had fed us dinner, letting us take the food from his fingers, his eyes dark and worried. I tried to reassure him, to let him know it'd be all right with my lips and tongue and teeth, but he just sighed and stroked saliva slick fingers though my hair. We were sent to bed early, without any of our customary nightly rituals, and my cock ached for a while. But he hadn't given us permission, and in time the ache faded.

Snape didn't stride into the room, didn't push back the curtains and rise looking as if he hadn't slept, didn't seem to be in his rooms at all. I shot a glance at Taru; he shrugged with one shoulder.

We waited, silently, kneeling on our beds. The light had crept almost down to the baseboard when the door clicked and swung open. I didn't look, wasn't that rude, but I knew it wasn't Snape.

Doc's feet clicked against the floor as he came around to look at us. The sound echoed in my ears. His eyes slid over us, cataloging our positions, our bruises and marks, our muscles. I presented myself as best I could without breaking position.

Eventually he sighed, gave us a potion, one we had been taking for a week, and clicked his fingers for us to follow him. I licked my lips; this one seemed to taste less than the ones I was used too. My forehead wrinkled; I prayed that it still worked. Every morning I woke with faint stirrings of distress, softly clamoring thoughts trying to push past the haze in my head. I didn't want them, couldn't stand them; they made it impossible for me to do this, to submit to this. Today's potion tasted off, and it made me afraid. I didn't want to go through today with those clamoring thoughts.

Out, out of the rooms and up into the castle proper, the stone warming under our feet, the light growing as we came out of the stairwell and into the entry hall. I could feel the potion finally working, smoothing the edges of things, making my mind float and buzz faintly. I sighed, content.

The Coraxis were everywhere, putting up decorations. I blinked in blurry amazement at the transformation. Shimmering lengths of black cloth hung on the walls and reflected a thousand tiny specks of light up to the ceiling. The specks swirled and rippled like dust motes, green, gold, white. The whole hall was awash in flickering color and shadow.

Doc didn't let us linger on the way to the infirmary. We sank down onto our knees when he motioned us to wait.

I let my mind rest, not thinking about anything. I had learned that I could wait much longer if I thought about nothing in particular; if I worked myself up about something or other I'd break position for sure. I thought about nothing a lot.

Doc gathered up his instruments and gave me a thorough check up, rubbing potions onto my bruises and welts until they faded away. He checked my teeth and eyes and fingers, and probed my stomach with his hot dry hands. Nothing unusual about any of it, even when he slid careful fingers inside me to check for any damage.

I was fine. The last 'customer' I had entertained, a member of Snape's household staff brought in to give us some variety, had been relatively gentle, requiring my mouth more than anything, and Snape promptly fixed any damage he caused himself.

Bili and Taru received the same treatment, though he handed Bili an extra potion to drink. She wrinkled her nose but drank it down without hesitation, only her tight jaw betraying how bad it must have tasted. I caught the faint scent of maiden moss and vinegar as Doc took the flask away; it was the weekly contraceptive potion.

Doc left the room, and we settled back to wait.

I wondered, suddenly, why we weren't talking. Snape hadn't taken our voices, and our hands weren't bound. Come to think of it, I don't think we had spoken to each other for days, relying more on body language and expression to communicate. I signed with the Coraxis, and with Brae, but not with them.

Hi, I signed at Bili, and she looked startled. Her brows drew down, and she glanced at the door.

He knows we can sign, I signed. How are you?

Fine, she signed shortly, her face puzzled. I waited a few minutes, but she didn't say anything else.

Taru? How are you?

He just looked at me and shrugged, then went back to waiting, his eyes half shut, his hands cupped loosely on his thighs. I felt a faint curl of unease wind through me, and I took a deep breath, willing it away. It eased, and I waited peacefully.

Some time later, a set of Coraxis came and got us, leading us down to the exercise hall. There were already a handful of Corvatica there, stretching and running, swimming or doing sit ups. The Coraxis pointed at the pool, and we nodded.

How long, I asked them, and one of them thought for a moment.

Until noon, it said, and I nodded, though I had no idea how long that would be.

We swam laps, turning at the wall a second behind one another, one, two, three, and not thinking about anything at all. Every six laps we stopped for thirty seconds or so, treading water slowly, and then dove down to the dim bottom of the pool. There were rings here, and we were supposed to hold on as long as we could. I had been terrible at this at first, lasting only twenty or so seconds, but with practice it got easier, and now I usually held on almost a full minute.

Today I looked up, watching the light shimmer on the surface of the water. It was silent but for the thud of my heart in my ears. I could vaguely see Bili and Taru next to me, faint shapes into the gloom. Bili always curled around her ring, tucking her toes as well as fingers into it. Taru's face, the one time I had seen it clearly, was disturbingly peacefully. I didn't look at him now.

A dark blob appeared at the edge of the pool.

I blinked, a bubble escaping my nose. I couldn't see who it was, but it was much too tall to be a lesser Coraxis. It was either Doc or Snape, but the figure didn't move, and it went away before my minute was up.

I let go first, as usual, and bobbed back to the surface. The gym was empty.

Another finger of unease went through me, but I shrugged it off, angry at myself for letting things get to me. I should be concentrating on the moment, on swimming, because that was my task.

I pushed myself to swim faster, letting the burn of my muscles drive out the thoughts.

At noon, the Coraxis came and got us, and we ate in the Corvatica dining hall, off the main hall. I had some faint thought that this room must have been a teacher's lounge Before, because there were comfortable couches along one end, and a fountain built into the wall that spouted hot tea on one side and hot coffee on the other. None of us were allowed to have any, however, and the bitter smell accompanied all our meals.

I saw Jericho at another table, laughing quietly with another boy about his age. I admired his mantle of tattooed feathers, the way his throat worked as he laughed, the way he gestured with his fork. I burned with quiet envy. I knew I didn't move as smoothly, even when I tried. I sighed into my oatmeal. Something shivered across my mind, a question trying to surface...

I quashed it, thinking hard about the rules of service.

After lunch, we had some time to ourselves in the garden. I stretched for a bit, and did some sit ups, while Bili napped in the shade and Taru ran laps. I let the sun warm my skin, turning every few minutes so that if I got burned, it wouldn't leave lines. I shut my eyes against the glare.

Something nudged my side, and I started awake, sitting up quickly. Snape stood over me, his shadow cold where it fell across my body.

“Up now, Modha,” he said, and I rolled to my knees, touching my forehead to the toe of his shoe before coming to my feet. He touched the nape of my neck briefly, and then pointed me over to where Bili and Taru already stood, hands folded behind them. I fell into line.

Snape led us back to his rooms and we sank to our knees on the pillows he directed us to. He poured himself a drink, and then sat at his desk, letting the wisps of smoke from the firewhiskey twine around his head.

“I've done all I can with you,” he said finally, staring into his glass. “And, as little as it means, you're as well suited to this evening's activities as you will ever be.” He downed the shot, and set the glass down so carefully it barely made a sound. His hand curled around a paper on the desk, crumpling it, and then forced his hand flat, stained fingertips smoothing the wrinkles..”

The news that the Lord wanted me wasn't unexpected, and my heart thudded in my throat. I glanced at Taru, but he hadn't moved. Perhaps he wasn't as nervous as I was. He had advanced more quickly than I, once we started training in earnest, and I wished I was as calm as he was now. True, he didn't talk as much, and even when we were training together he seemed distant, cold... but it didn't affect his performance, and I envied him his poise.

On his other side, I could see Bili's hand twitch as she started counting on her fingers, tapping each one against her palm. Snape allowed it, most of the time; it calmed her to lose herself in the numbers. It wasn't just straight counting, one two three four, but I could never actually figure out what it was. Like Taru's distance, it was a way for her to cope. My own coping method, unfortunately, marred my skin too much, and Snape had forbid me from indulging in it. Now, when I was too stressed to deal with things, I went to him, and he bit and scratched and fucked me until I was calm again, and then healed the damage.

Snape pushed away from his desk, and stood, his face set and closed. He gathered some supplies from the cabinets and placed the desk chair in front of us. The supplies went on the desk, in easy reach, and he came to stand just behind the chair.

“Each of you has gone through the full training of a servant of House Corvus, although you did it in much less time than is normal. But, you three being who you are, I suppose that is to be expected.

“Today you go from being a Discipulus to being a full Dominatus with all the rights and responsibilities thereof. I trust you, now, to comport yourself with all the dignity and composure that is the hallmark of your kind, and to not shame me, this house, or your fellow Dominatus. Bili, step forward.”

Bili unfolded herself from her pillow, and went to stand in front of him. He touched her forehead, gently, and guided her into the chair.

He dipped his fingertips into a jar on the desk, and stroked them across her cheeks, painting a faint line of gold onto her cheekbones. Her eyes slid shut, and I saw her hands go slack.Another dip, and a shimmering black line drawn across her chest, just over the tops of her breasts and down the sides. The frown line that perpetually marred her forehead smoothed out. He nudged her forward, and painted across her back, fingers tracing patterns and lines. She almost slid out of the chair as he finished, only stopped by his hands as they caught her and pushed her back.

Faintly, I felt like I should be concerned... but I just sat there, knees cushioned by the pillow, and watched as she became an empty thing.

Snape tipped Bili's head back over the edge of the chair, and she looked boneless, asleep or unconscious. Snape paused, his hand brushing a bit of curl off her forehead, before sliding his wand out of his sleeve.

He slowly put the wand to the point of her collar, pushing until the tip dented her skin. He leaned forward, arcing over her slack body, and whispered a word into her hair.

Magic crackled, and she arched, a scream bubbling out of the slack mouth. I jerked half off my pillow, fear breaking through the contented fog that held me. I rose, but Snape snarled over his shoulder at me to stay put, and I sank down again.

It went on for a long time. The magic crawled over her, and she kept screaming, screaming, screaming. I put my hands over my ears. Next to me, Taru didn't move, just kept staring straight ahead.

Finally it was over, and Snape slid her into his arms and laid her on her bed. I could see the new tattoo clearly, the feathered collar wrapped around her upper chest, the feathers coming to a point beneath her breasts. Blood seeped from the magically etched lines and slid down her pale skin. She looked beautiful, and part of me ached with jealously. He had done that to her, made a mark on her the whole world would see. A mark that she was worthy, that she was perfect and owned and treasured. That he was proud of her.

Snape did Taru next, and the whole time he screamed I ached.

I watched, anticipation making my stomach twitch, while Snape levitated Taru and put him to bed. He made himself another drink. I waited for the command to stand, waited with my weight shifted so that I could stand immediately. I wanted those feathers, wanted the marks for myself. Snape sat and looked at me, his eyes shadowed and dark. I tried to stay still, tried to show him with my posture and my carriage how good I was, how obedient and worthy.

He made me wait a long time.

Finally he snapped his fingers, and I sprang to my feet, looking to him for direction. But he didn't direct me to the chair, didn't touch my head or paint my face.

“Modha, cap the jars and put them on the shelf,” he said, and the disappointment crashed through me. I felt nauseous, but did as he asked, numbly picking up each jar and carefully capping it. I don't remember putting them on the shelf, but I must have, for I found myself back in front of his desk, waiting for my next instruction, and my hands were empty.

Snape was still drinking. I stood there, trying to figure out why I wasn't worthy of becoming Corvatica, trying to work out how I had failed him. I had done everything he had asked, learned everything I could. I was a disappointment.

I clenched my jaw against the pain of that. I had tried so hard. My chest felt tight. I closed my eyes against the feeling. Still not good enough.

His hand touched my chin, and I blinked up at him, my lashes spiky and wet.

“Poor little Modha. Feeling left out, are we?” he said, and I didn't have an answer, so I just looked up at him. His voice wasn't unkind, wasn't cruel or cutting. “You still don't understand, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Bili and Taru aren't like you. They don't understand pain the way you do... the way I do. They needed the paint and the spells of amnesia. They'll wake up with their marks and remember nothing of them. It gives me no joy to hurt the unconscious, no pleasure to give pain to those who don't appreciate it.

“But you... you would never truly be happy with not remembering, would you?” His hand on my jaw tightened, and I whimpered softly as his fingers pressed skin against bone. “You will get your marks, but you will feel every one, and remember it afterward. You've earned that.”

A great shuddering wave of relief flooded through me, and my eyes shut again. This time the emotion that welled in me escaped in two fat trails down my cheeks. He wiped them away with his other hand, still holding my chin tight.

“Oh yes, so pretty when you cry.” And his hand moved, slapping my face hard. I gasped against the hand holding my chin. He slapped me again, and I moaned, my cock hardening against my loincloth.

“So pretty, and so, so bent. You like this, don't you? You like it when I hold you and hurt you.”

Once, when I was still Harry Potter, the boy who lived, I would have denied it and burned with anger... but I was only Modha, and I burned in an entirely different way. I nodded against him.

“Out loud, boy. I want to hear it.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice faint but steady.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and he slapped me again.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I like it when you hurt me,” and he growled and pulled my mouth to his, forcing his tongue past my unresisting lips. His hand slid from my chin to my hair, and he clenched his fingers tight, yanking my head back farther, taking my mouth hard.

I felt pliant under him, opening my mouth and letting him do what he wished. The corners of my mouth hurt from being stretched so far, and his teeth ground my lips against my teeth. I moaned again.

He slid his other hand around my body, drawing me to him. His robe scratched along my chest, my nipples hard points catching on the cold little buttons. I could feel every seam and fold. He turned, lifting me slightly as he walked backward, and I found myself half seated on his desk, the wood digging into my thighs. I sighed, wishing I was allowed to touch him. I put my arms behind me instead, catching my forearms tight against my back, leaving me open to whatever he wanted to do.

He pulled his mouth away from mine eventually, a slick string of spit connecting us for a moment before breaking and striping my chin with wetness. My lips burned and hurt. My cock, fully hard now, twitched against the wool of his robe. He leaned in again, biting marks into my neck, and I let him, let him as if I had a choice, tipping my head and groaning with each nip. Snape's mouth moved again, biting down my chest. His arm locked around my back, hand gripping my folded arms, arching my chest into his mouth. My head fell back as he sucked my nipples, one after the other. I yelped as he pinched the sore skin, grinding his fingers together. My hips jerked.

"That's it, boy, you can take it. You can take anything I do to you, can't you?" he murmured against my skin, and I nodded weakly, unable to do anything but believe him.

He dropped his hand to my waist, flicking back my loincloth to grip my cock hard, stroking me with punishing force. The feeling crawled up my spine, bursting white and hot in my head, and I begged, my legs sliding apart.

He pushed me down onto the desk suddenly, and I gasped, all breath leaving me as I slammed into the wood. His arms slid under my thighs, hooking and pulling them open as he pushed me up farther on the desk. Papers crumpled, and I felt the firewhiskey bottle tip and spill, hot liquor splashing over my shoulder.My back squeaked against the wood, and I tried to help, lifting my ass, curling my legs around him. He looked up at me, framed by my wide open thighs, and his snarl looked more like a maniacal grin, all sharp teeth and madness.

Leaning down, he bit my inner thighs, over and over, and the pain became a solid thing, pushing me higher. I tried to open my thighs wider, offer more of myself to him, and he grabbed my balls, hissing, "Be still."

I froze. My cock throbbed to my wild heartbeat, moving even though I had stilled.

He pulled back from me, his hands working at his buttons, opening his robe from neck to mid-thigh, just enough to get his cock from his loose silk trousers. He stroked it once, twice, and I watched, mesmerized. His robe slipped from his shoulders, bunched around his forearms, a dark shape around him.

"You can take anything I give you, can't you? I could fuck you dry and you'd just arch and pant for it, you little wretch," and I saw no point in denying it, so I nodded, feeling my hair soaking up the split firewhiskey.Snape slid his fingers through the smoking puddle and wiped the liquid across my nipples, where it stung and smoldered, and I arched. He lapped the whiskey from my chest, his tongue soothing after the sharp burn.

"Shall I do that? Take you dry and make you bleed? Mark you so everyone can see what a slut you are, what a wonderful whore you've become? Shall I? Hmm?"

I could do nothing but nod, nod and moan and wait for the pain.

He snorted, breath cold on my wet nipples. "That would be pointless, anyway. Everyone who looks at you will know you're my slut, and nothing I do will change that. It'd be a pointless waste of a beautiful arse."

His hand slid under me, finding the disk tattoo on my back with no trouble. I felt my self loosen, felt the tingle of magic slick me with lube, and I groaned, lifting my hips.

"Yes, that's it. Open yourself for me. Show me how much you want it," and I did, I did, holding my thighs open and arching my back, waiting for him to take me. I felt empty inside.

"Little whore," he said, warmth in his voice, and pushed his cock into me, filling me up.

I yelled, coming up off the desk, but his fingers grabbed me around the throat and slammed me down again, my shoulders splashing in the whiskey. His hand tightened on my throat, holding me still as he slid his cock most of the way out before thrusting again. He set up a harsh rhythm, fucking me so hard I would have slid across the desk had he not held me down. The desk shook, and the half-empty firewhiskey bottle rolled off, shattering against stone.

Snape groped next to me, finding his wand. He tightened his hand on my throat, and I suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't move other than my arching hips, and Snape stabbed at me with the tip of his wand, the tip piercing my skin. I couldn't hear anything past my own yelling and the rushing in my head, but I saw his lips move.

And my whole world dissolved into white, blinding pain.

****

I woke all at once, jerking upright with my heart pounding as if a nightmare had just spit me out. My chest and shoulders ached. I glanced down and sighed deeply as I made out the mantle of feathers, crusted with dried blood. Thank god.

Heart slowing, I looked around. The dark, thick curtains blocked out most of the light, but I recognized Snape's bed. I had woken here before. Snape was nowhere in sight, though.

I lay back down, carefully arranging my shoulders against the blanket. I could feel the scabs prickle and shift, and shrugged one shoulder, sighing as the scabs cracked sharply and started to bleed again.

Blood on Snape's bedspread. My blood. It wouldn't be the first time.

But it might be the last.

I frowned at the thought. The frown itself felt odd, as if I hadn't done it in a long time. I rubbed at my face, knuckled my eyes. I felt awake, really awake, in a way that I hadn't for days. Why? But the worry about that was fuzzy, unfocused. Tonight loomed in my mind, blocking out other worries.

Tonight I would entertain the Lord. Alone. And before that I had to make it through the ball itself. And if I did? What then? An endless lifetime of whoring at Snape’s command, begging at his feet for scraps of food and attention.

I waited for the revulstion and the anger to appear... and wasn't surprised at all when they did not.

The curtain slid back from the bed with a sibilant hiss, the metal rings sliding on the rod. Snape paused, his hand still gripping the curtain. The rings under his eyes made him look skull-like. I rose up on my knees, suppressing the yelp as my back stuck to the bed. I touched my fist to my nose in the sign of the house, and then folded myself down in front of him, letting my forehead rest on the cloth.

He made a small noise, a sigh or a word that I couldn't quite hear, and the bed dipped as he sat next to me. I didn't move, even as his hand settled on my head, carding though the mess of my hair.

"And you still kneel," he said, his voice low and almost tender. "You kneel here, after I've broken you down and built you into a slave?" His hand tightened, briefly, in my hair, and I shivered despite myself. "You, who were the greatest weapon the light had, prostrate yourself on my bed, still bleeding from the marks I gave you, and you don't have an ounce of anger left in you, do you?"

He pulled me into his lap, tipping my head back to stare into my face. I blinked, wanting to touch his sallow skin. He looked terrible, eyes dark pits and skin taut and yellowed. He looked like death. I dipped my head, tucking it beneath his chin. He rested his head on mine for a long moment.

"I've done my job too well," he said, his voice tight and hard. He pushed me off his lap and onto the floor, and I caught myself on my palms and knees. His foot came down on my back, pressing me down, grinding at the scabs. I gasped against the stone. "I've done my job too well, and you're nothing but an exquisite toy. A toy," he said, his face twisted.

And then he kicked me.

I gasped, rolling away from him. My ribs flared with pain, sharp and hot and terrible. He came at me again, his foot catching me just under the ribs, and the air whooshed out of me. Something deep inside me broke, and I gagged against the stone. My face burned with anger and pain.

"A toy, and therefore replaceable. Pointless. Useless!" he snarled, and pulled his leg back to kick me again.

I caught his ankle, glaring up his body, my eyes narrowed to slits. My breath wheezed, my fingers digging into the thin skin.

" Aha ! Perhaps not such a toy," he said, and reached down, tangling my hair in his fist and yanking me to my feet. I held onto his ankle until my ribs shifted, and my vision dimmed. I almost fell as I let go, only his hand in my hair and his grip on my arm steadying me. I fought back the blackness, struggling to pull my head from his hand. My ribs creaked, and I sagged, the fight going out of me. For now.

"Bastard," I whispered, my voice cracked and dry.

"Indeed."

*********

My nose itched.

I couldn't scratch it, couldn't move at all, in fact. The three of us stood posed in a circle, facing outward with shoulders touching, hands outstretched. Snape's magic held us still, made us look and feel like black stone marbled with gold, and more magic made thick dark wine flow from our wrists into our cupped hands. It dripped from our fingers, down to the bowl beneath the pedestal we stood on.

Only Snape could come up with such a creepy way to serve wine.

We stood, a statue in the midst of a churning mass of partygoers, ignored except for the people that came to us to refill their goblets. Other statues dotted the ball, other people twisted and stilled with magic. I remembered the fear as Snape pulled us up onto the pedestal, his stern voice telling us not to move as he poured the potion on our feet. I had shaken my head frantically as the stone crawled up my legs, and Snape snapped his fingers, ordering me to look at him. His eyes caught mine, and I couldn't look away. The stone had crept up my body, encasing me. When it flowed over my chest, I felt my breathing slow and stop. My eyes widened, and Snape stepped back. I followed him, eyes the only part of me that could move as the stone crept up my face. He stopped at a point near the curtained off wall, and I felt the stone close over the top of my head. He moved away, and I realized I should have shut my eyes, should have done something, because my eyes were frozen, open and staring at a point somewhere ahead of me, and I couldn't shut them or move them.

A few minutes afterwards, he had come to my side, sliding a hand along my side. "Not for much longer," he said, and I relaxed inside my stone skin.

Hours later, and I still stared at that place near the curtains where Snape had stood. It wasn't blurry, thanks to the potion Snape dripped into my eyes earlier, when he took my glasses.

People milled below us, taking little notice of who the fountain was made of. We didn't exactly look like ourselves, anyway: Bili's hair still curled short against her head, and Taru and I had grown a bit since many of the Death Eaters had seen us last. But perhaps they didn't care who we were. Perhaps we were just three little whores, and whomever we were Before was of little consequence. The part of me that was awake again was glad they didn't notice us; it gave me time to study them.

Them. The enemy. Somehow in the last few weeks I had forgotten exactly who these people were. In the endless parade of cocks and sex and sweat and spit they had become something else, something far and removed from the people that had toppled the wizarding world and destroyed everything. Something meaningless and unimportant. I had forgotten them.

I remembered them now, and the hate that filled me was hot and good and real.

They didn't notice me, and I was glad of it. I stood there, immobile, no more worrisome to them than the statue I looked like. Or so they thought. Glass after glass of wine disappeared past those treacherous lips, and with each glass they loosened a bit more. I couldn't turn my head, couldn't actually see most of the people talking, but there was nothing wrong with my hearing.

"I heard Hystrix brought a whole troupe of entertainers," said a male voice.

"I'm sure he did. He's still annoyed that the ball is even being held here. It was his turn this year, you know," said another, the voice faintly familiar.

"He's always been touchy, especially after Snape stole that lot of slaves out from under him three years ago," said the first man.

"Stole? Bought for cheap, more like. Hystrix was done with them. The fact that Snape's turning a profit from his leftovers is what's burning him up. I've even heard that -", but then they moved out of ear shot, and I didn't get to hear anything more . It registered that someone was standing directly below me, filling a glass from the

wine that dripped from my fingers. I could just see the edge of a hand, pale and thin. An ornate ring in the shape of a dragon curled around one finger. The skin around it was swollen and red.

I felt a touch, down by my knee, and barely heard the muttered words above the flowing wine. "I know it's you in there, Potter. I - "

"Draco, darling! There you are! Are you sure you want wine? I know you said that this was a good vintage, but that statue is revolting. I can't believe you came all the way over here for it! Come have some spiced Drambuie with me. It's got crushed amber and moonflower petals - it's ever so good," and then they were gone.

My heart thudded hard. Draco Malfoy, drinking wine and still, still surrounded by fawning admirers. But the hand that had touched me had been trembling.

Snatches of conversation swirled around me like the scattered motes of glowing dust that lit the hall.

"Well, I heard that South of Shrewsbury is out of contact."

"Surly not that far North? What about -"

"... there's still a booming business to be had, even if Snape's creatures have taken over much of it."

"I'll tell you, those things are useful though. They always seem to know exactly what I need."

"Creepy, if you ask me. I wouldn't have one at all, except that Snape made it a gift to me, and I would think that it'd be a bad idea to turn down one of his gifts." The man sounded faintly upset.

"Come off it, Dolohov. That creature is the best thing that happened to you. At least your paperwork gets done now."

And then someone stumbled into the base of the fountain, and the wine sloshed against my feet. A woman's shriek of surprise turned into one of anger.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You've spilled wine on my dress, you little bitch." A sharp slap, and then someone was whimpering at my feet. Some of the conversation around me stopped, as people turned to see who the woman was berating. Another blow sounded , and the girl at my feet cried out.

Someone in the crowd laughed, and the bystanders moved closer.

"Go on, Alecto, give it to her. It's just one of Ovis's little sheep."

"Please, please - I'm sorry! I'll clean it up." said a small voice, and it felt like the bottom of my stomach fell out. I knew that voice. It was Susan Bones, my classmate. -I was sure of it.

The woman, -Alecto, I presumed, hit Susan again, and she gave a faint sob . There was an eager hiss from the crowd. Anger rose in me, filling me up like the wine in the basin. But I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but listen as Alecto struck Susan over and over again. I could see her hand as she lifted it , the long dark red polished nails. The girl's sobs seemed to urge her on. I could feel myself trembling with anger.

I wanted the magic around me to crack, my anger to erupt into the crowd and burn a swathe through them.

But I could do nothing.

Suddenly Snape was there, catching Alecto's hand as I saw it come up. His fingers, filthy even now, closed hard on her wrist.

"Excuse me. Is there a problem?"

She wrenched her hand away. "No. This little... ovine spilled wine on my dress. I was just correcting her behavior."

"While I'm sure that Ovis would be delighted that you are taking such an active role in his training regime, I think that perhaps you should let him take care of this."

Alecto made a little harrumphing noise, half-way between angry and disappointed.

A short, balding man pushed his way through the crowd. Two blank-faced servants dressed in blue followed him. "What's going on here? Why is it on the ground?"

Snape turned to the man, "Just a misunderstanding, Ovis. I'm sure there's no damage done."

"Oh, no, my dress is fine," Alecto said. The men ignored her.

Ovis knelt, dropping out of my line of sight. I heard him clucking over Susan, but he didn't speak to her. He stood, and gestured to the servants. One picked Susan up easily. She clung to him, hiding her face. I could just see a sliver of her cheek. It was red, and a bruise was forming. She looked thinner, and older.

"Miss Carrows, please refrain from... molesting my servitors. It was only attempting to do its job. If you must vent your considerable pique on something, go to Hystrix. He's got a whole bevy of toys for you to beat up." Ovis said. She turned silently, and pushed through the rapidly dissipating crowd.

Ovis glared at an expressionless Snape. " You're being a terrible host. The longer you hold out on up the entertainment, the more restless they will become."

"Hystrix is providing most of that sort of activity tonight, Ovis, and Dorcus promised a performance of dancers."

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

Ovis paused, clearly waiting for Snape to say something else. Snape was silent. Ovis shook his head and walked away.

Snape looked up at me. His expression was brittle.

Another hour passed. A quartet of musicians struck up a waltz, and people moved gradually into complicated dances. The shining motes of dust swirled in the same patterns, throwing distorted, monstrous shadows behind the couples, shadows that split and reformed, making demons of dancers.

The music effectively cut off all the chatter , and I found myself slipping back into empty thought . I shook it off, trying to concentrate. But my training was too effective; I was in a haze until thunderous applause woke me.

At the back of the ballroom, the double doors were open, and three Death Eaters entered the hall . My heart sped up.

Lucius Malfoy, his robe a bruised green, arm in arm with Bellatrix Lestrange, her blood-red dress bright against his pale skin. I caught a familiar silver glint and an akward skuffling walk... Peter Pettigrew followed them, silver hand radiant in the candlelight. They arrayed themselves aroundthe sides of the door. The quartet played a long, slow progression, and at the crescendo Voldemort stepped through the doorway.

Without the magic holding me up, I couldn't have stayed still. Fear boiled under my skin, anger roiled in my belly. I wanted to leap for his throat , claw and punch and destroy him. Even after all this time, all of Snape's careful training, my hate for him was undimmed, strong as it had been the day I saw him kill Cedric.

Snape came forward and made a deep obeisance to the Dark Lord, gestures welcoming him to the ball. The crowd shifted and buzzed excitedly. Voldemort took his place in the ornate carved chair set ready for him , and a light slowly came up along one wall. It picked out a shadowed alcove, curtain pulled across the one I was facing.The crowd turned to look. The curtain slid back.

The stage had minimal dressing: a few tables and chairs, a painted backdrop of stone walls and large, paned windows.

A few masked players entered from the left. One had a long, scraggly white beard. Another was obviously male, but dressed in a ugly plaid woman's robe, and had a long ruler. There were also three smaller players, acting like monkeys; a redhead, a bushy-haired brunette, and a bespeckled, messy haired boy.

I would have blinked, had I had the ability to do so.

The players acted out their parts; 'Dumbledore' the doddering, drooling old man, 'McGonagall' the strict, but clueless schoolmistress. And the three schoolchildren, capering and bouncing about, gibbering nonsense.

The crowd loved it. They hooted and cheered as McGonagall seemed to wet himself at the sight of the trio wrapped in a sheet, pretending to be a ghost. When Dumbledore faced a 'bogart'which turned out to be a mirror, he fainted dead away at the sight of himself. The three 'children' mimed that they thought he was dead, and sobbed and clutched at their hair and clothes. As the 'Harry' beat his head against the floor, his robe slipped slightly and I could see a tattooed mantel of feathers across his chest.

The McGonagall draped a sheet over the still twitching 'Dumbledore,' and patted the hysterically sobbing 'Ron' on the shoulder. 'Hermione' was rocking herself. All three of them froze as the stage light suddenly went dark, and then painted lightning cracked across the sky in the backdrop. A wolf howled in the distance. The four of them turned to look at the window. Lightning again, and silhouetted figures stood in the window.

The four screamed, and the stage suddenly erupted, figures in black robes and white masks coming up from the floor and down from the ceiling, some seeming to step out of the walls themselves. Music swelled, and the four pulled their wands and faced off with the masked Death Eaters.

Slapstick comedy became a complicated dance, as the four tried to defend against the hoard. Spell light flickered as each Death Eater shot at the four. They leapt and ducked as the spells sizzled past. The students went one way, and McGonagall, seeing her chance, grabbed Dumbledore and dragged him, sheet and all, off stage. The three students, left without anyone to lead them, milled for a moment until the black-haired one stepped forward and took control of the dance, leading both the Death Eaters and his friends around the stage. But there was nowhere to go, and soon the three were forced to their knees at wand point.

A tall Death Eater stepped up, wearing a long black wig. He pulled the wands from the boys, but the girl managed to slip it into a pocket and he only pulled McGonagall's ruler from her hands. He didn't seem to notice. The three were marched up and down the stage, the real Death Eaters as smug as the actors on stage.

The trio were put up against the wall, and the tall Death Eater shot them with blue sparks from his wand. They all slumped down. The crowd roared.

There were more skits. Things I didn't understand, with the Death Eaters pulling tricks on each other, stealing away possessions and taking each other's positions. The crowd laughed sometimes,

and once someone in the audience yelled out an insult, which the actor returned. The trees painted in the window slowly changed from green to gold to bare, and back again. And still the children lay slumped at the side, forgotten.

Eventually someone remembered they were there, and they became a pawn in the bickering. The Death Eaters split into two groups and picked up the unconscious bodies, wrenching viciously at them as if they would pull them apart. The tall Death Eater rose up between them, stopping them with a look. Coraxis, real Coraxis, appeared and took the three of them away. The rest of the Death Eaters bowed out, each getting some measure of applause as they left the stage.

The Coraxis returned, bearing the bodies of the three. All were striped down to a loincloth. I could clearly see the black feather tattoo on the black haired boy. The other two weren't Corvatica, as far as I could tell. Someone in the crowd hooted at the sight of the girl's chest. Someone else shushed him.

The Coraxis lay the three down on the stage, and backed away. The light dimmed, was a spotlight on their still bodies. The audience was quiet.

After a few moments the tall Death Eater appeared and woke the three, pulling them upright and binding their arms together. The actor rushed through this part, fumbling the rope so badly that it slipped from around Harry's hands, and Harry grabbed at it, holding it in place. The Death Eater pointed at the back wall, where a light came up to show a massive pile of dishes painted onto the backdrop. The three sighed and trudged over to start washing. The crowd jeered. The three of them toiled, and the trees outside the window slowly lost their leaves again. The Death Eater sat down at a desk and wrote frantically in a book with a long black quill. The end of the quill was so long that it knocked over a bowl of fruit perched on the desk. The fruit bounced and skittered along the floor, coming to within a few feet of the trio. They tuned to look at it, and rubbed their stomachs.

Harry glanced at the Death Eater, and when he didn't move, left the wall to try to get some fruit. The book that the Death Eater was writing in bleated and ruffled its pages. Harry scuttled back to his dishwashing. Next Hermione tried for the fruit, and the book bleated again, twitching madly. The Death Eater stabbed at it with his pen and it stilled. Hermione squeaked and turned back to her task. Ron looked at them both, and then at the fruit. They shook their head, motioning at the Death Eater, but he nodded and patted his stomach. He edged away from the wall, and the book, perhaps cowed by the sharp point of the pen, didn't make a sound. He edged farther out, and crouched, moving at a creep. Still the Death Eater didn't move, just kept writing.

Triumphantly, Ron grabbed a piece of fruit and scrambled back to the wall, showing it off to the other two. His triumph was short lived, however, as the Death Eater suddenly rose and turned. Ron looked for somewhere to hide the fruit, and finding nowhere else, stuck it under his loincloth, pinching his knees together to keep it there.

The crowd laughed as the Death Eater led them around the stage, making them do various tasks while Ron comically hobbled, trying to hide the fruit.

As they laughed, I felt something odd happening along my hands. The wine, which had been flowing coolly against my palms all night, slowed to a trickle. I glanced at my hand the best I could, and I could see that the place where the wine had flowed was closing. Small tingles of magic flashed in my fingers and toes. I blinked... and realized I could blink. My eyelids moved, and I could just wiggle the tips of my fingers. The black stone skin that had covered us was receding, crawling down off of my hands.

The crowd made some other noise, and I looked again at the stage. Ron must have ditched the fruit, because he wasn't hobbling anymore. The Death Eater was pushing him up onto a pedestal to stand next to Hermione and Harry. The Death Eater pushed them into place, holding their arms out until they stood in the same position we stood in now. The anxious feeling in my stomach grew .

The black stone was almost gone from our skin.

The Death Eater got them arranged how he liked, and then he stood back, admiring his work. With a final, conductor-like wave of his wand, he presented the trio to the crowd. The lights blazed down on them for just one moment, then went out.

Above us, around us, a spotlight bloomed, blinding me.

And then we were the show.

Silence.

I could hear myself breathing. Next to me, I felt Bili's shoulder tense as she realized where we were. Taru hadn't moved.

We held our arms in place. Snape's order from earlier rang in my head. "Don't move until I present you."

I hadn't understood it then, but I did now. The light blinded me, cutting into my eyes and making everything white. I couldn't have moved, even if I wanted to; fear swam up from somewhere buried and engulfed me.

A clap, and then another, and the whole room was filled with applause. The spotlight above us dimmed as the lights in the rest of the room came up, and I could see the people clapping, clapping, mouths full of sharp teeth smiling, eyes like cursed wands shining. And there, at the back, was Voldemort, still seated, his long pale hands slowly leading the applause.

I swallowed, hard. The fear still had me, made my stomach jump and twitch, but I could deal with this. I could.

The crowd parted for Snape , leaving a clear path between us and Voldemort's throne. Snape stopped below me as the clapping died away, and clicked his fingers. I immediately looked down at him, and I could just barely see Taru and Bili turning to look at him. He flicked his wand, and the wine in the basin surged up and formed bloody stairs from the pedestal to the ground. He gave the hand signal for "down", and Taru and I stepped down first, before offering our hands for Bili. When we stood before him, he twitched his hand slightly into the "Kneel" position, and we sank to our knees. The crowd murmured. As one, we folded ourselves forward, our foreheads to the ground. Someone in the crowd near me gasped quietly.

"My Lord, my fellows, may I present my three newest Corvatica: Bili,", and she stood at his gesture, spine straight and head back. "Taru,", and he stood too, taller than Bili, his hands relaxed and his face distant. "And Modha." I surged to my feet. My lungs ached faintly, and I remembered, belatedly, to breathe. I kept my eyes on Snape; it was safer, felt safer, to look only at him. He turned, and bowed to Voldemort, and the three of us did also.

"Well, well, well, Severus," Voldemort said, his voice carrying out over the throng of people. "You've outdone yourself this time. Bili, Taru, and Modha, did you say? Bring them forward."

Snape clicked his fingers again, and we fell into line behind him. My hands were trembling slightly, and I folded them behind me, fingers digging into my elbows. We walked among the rows of Death Eaters, each smiling or glaring or sneering, and their combined glee and hate made me feel sick. I stared hard at the hem of Snape's robe as he walked ahead of us; it was the same black snakeskin he had worn so long ago, when we walked behind him for the first time. Then, like now, I thought I could make out words in the sibilant scraping of the robe against the floor. "Wait," it said. "Calm", and "be good", and my heart slowed.

Voldemort was no different than any other client, I told myself. He would try to make me react, try to make me fail, and I wouldn't let him. I would hold myself as a Corvatica, and he couldn't really touch me.

No matter what he did.

Snape stopped us in front of Voldemort, and we spread into a line and sank down again to our knees, heads bowed submissively. Snape nodded,and stepped to the side.

I could feel eyes on me, looking at the tattoo on my lower back, tracing over the feathered mantel on my shoulders. Voldemort's flat cold stare brushed against my front, and there was a shadow darkening my light.

I breathed softly, not moving, not clenching my hands or shifting on the stone. I could smell him, a dry sweet smell, faint and chilling, like dust and scales and rotting things. I didn't move. Something stroked over my hair, and I reacted without thinking, pushing up into the caress. But the hand wasn't Snape's, large and familiar. It was hot and sharp, thin bones under thinner skin, and I suppressed the shudder. He was touching me.

It didn't last long, and I heard him chuckle as he moved away. "Very nice, Severus. I believe I've already claimed this one for the night. Modha, did you call him? Yes. He will stay here for the remainder of the ball." And he clicked his fingers at me, pointing to a spot next to his chair. I rose, mind stuttering, and turned to Snape for conformation. He nodded, and I saluted him, touching my fist to nose. Volidmort made a little noise of impatience, and I went to him, bowing low before turning and sinking to my knees at his side. The stone was cold under my knees.

"His contract?"

"Here, my lord," said Snape, pulling a scroll from his robe and handing to Voldemort. I recognized the ribbons used to tie it; the tiny silver crows on the end still dangled limply.

Voldemort took the scroll and held it for a moment. He turned to look at me. "Did you sign this, boy? I'll know if you lie."

I nodded, miserably. The geas on the scroll would make sure I was obedient. Snape hadn't ever used them, hadn't needed them. With that scroll, Voldemort could order me to do anything. I looked at the ground again.

"The only thing I will use this for, then, is to order you not to harm me in any way. Not that I think that you can, mind you, but

it's always better to be prepared."

I wanted for some kind of magic to roll through me, to feel the binding of the spell, but felt nothing. Perhaps I wouldn't feel it unless I meant to do him harm. I stared at my knees harder.

Bili and Taru still knelt in front of us, and Snape inclined his head at them. "And these, my Lord?"

Volidimort waved his hand dismissively. "I assume they are spoken for?"

"They are."

"Then let those who have clamed them come and get them. "

Snape inclined his head again, and turned to the waiting crowd. People had already pushed to the front. I recognized a few of the people from earlier. Dolohov, and his companions, and Crabbe and Goyle Sr.And from my right, I saw Lucius Malfoy step forward.

A Coraxis appeared at Snape's elbow, and he took the proffered scroll. "Antonin Dolohov and party first, and then Messers Crabbe and Goyle. One hour each. And then the head of house Cerastae."

Malfoy bowed his head in acknowledgement, raking his eyes over Bili and Taru as he did so. I couldn't tell if it was lust or contempt in his face . I wanted to somehow spare them this... but I could see Bili's hand start to twitch, counting, counting, and Taru's face hadn't changed expression at all. They would get through this as well as I would. Snape had seen to that.

Voldemort called for music to start up, and the party resumed slowly. People talked in knots and groups. The Coraxis wheeled out a new fountain of wine. Some people began waltzing.

"Bili, Taru, go with your first clients. They have exactly two hours. Dolohov, you have enjoyed the services of my house before; you know my rules, and the consequences of breaking them. Return them in the same condition I gave them to you. If they require any repair, you will be charged accordingly, and may be penalized beyond that. This goes for all of you," he gestured to the other waiting groups. "I have set up a suite of rooms for your use. My servant will show you to them."

A small Coraxis stepped up, a shining green sash across its chest. Snape motioned for it to lead them. As it walked by me, I realized, with a horrible jolt, that it was Brae.

Oh god, I thought. Brae was a child. He shouldn't be here. But Coraxis aged differently than humans, and last week Brae had been less and less like a child. In fact, I thought, he had acted more like a teenager. We had talked about the history of the castle, and it hadn't been much different than talking to one of the older Coraxis. I had to keep reminding myself that they weren't people, but something totally different. I had to stop thinking Brae as a little boy. He had grown so much in the last two weeks that I could hardly recognize him as the wet and peeping bundle of skin and feathers he had been.

Brae walked out, with Bili and Taru following. Dolohov stalked behind them, looking affronted. His friends trailed after him. One of them glanced at Snape, almost afraid.

I wondered, suddenly, what the penalty was for damaging a Corvatica.

Snape made his excuses to Voldemort, and Voldemort waved him away. Snape shot me a look and I swear I saw his fingers flash. Don't fail, they seemed to say.

And then I was alone with Voldemort.

I waited, body tense, for something to happen. Long moments passed, and Voldemort just stared out at the throng. Malfoy brought him a cup of wine, and he held it for a moment before leaning down.

"Drink, boy," he said, and held the cup near my lips. I sipped at the wine, wondering if I was testing it for poison. It tasted fine, if a bit rich for my empty stomach.

Voldemort glanced down at me over the carved arm of the chair. I didn't look up; I hadn't been given permission to do so. His reptilian face was harder to read than the others I had been with. I couldn't quite tell if he was intrigued or annoyed. Hm. I'd have to elicit some kind of response, in order to know how to proceed. He touched my head again, and I rubbed up a little. Hell, I had done it once, and it hadn't killed me. If I kept this on my terms, kept him guessing, perhaps I could control the night.

His fingers stilled, and then slid deep into my hair, gripping it tight. I swallowed my gasp.

Perhaps not.

He tipped my head back, staring down into my face. I tried to keep it composed, but the grip he had in my hair was tight, and it hurt. And I couldn't stop the flush that the pain brought to my cheeks. His eyes were flat, not round, and it made my skin twitch. His thin, lipless mouth tilted into what I think was a smile, and he let go of my hair suddenly and pushed my head down so I was looking at the ground again.

Next to me, I could see Malfoy shifting in his chair. As much as I hated Voldemort, Malfoy just made me angry. With my head down, I could indulge in a facial expression, and let a glare come out.

"Seems that my new pet doesn't like you, Lucius."

"I'm not surprised. One, he never has. Two, I watched Snape strip him of what little magic he had. And three, none of your pets like me." Malfoy sighed and gestured with his cane. "Nagini in particular, I believe."

"Is that true, my love?" Voldemort hissed. "Would you like to see Lucius gone?"

Something under Voldemort's chair shifted. "Gone? No. Devoured, perhaps." Nagini slid out into the light, a snake as big around as his thigh, all pale stripes and speckled scales. She lifted her head, her tongue flickering. "And here is the boy, hmm? Smells odd... old and dull." She moved closer, and I didn't dare shift away. Her blunt nose touched me under the chin, and I shivered as her tongue flickered along my skin.

Voldemort saw me shiver.

"Don't you like her, boy? She is beautiful, deadly, powerful. It's been a long time since you've seen her. She's grown, hasn't she?" He stroked a pale finger down her back, and she shifted into the touch, her head moving hypnotically. Voldemort's eyes were very much like hers, I thought, watching the head move.

"Yes, don't you like me?" she said, and flickered her tongue out again against my face. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Voldemort had asked me a direct question, but hadn't given me permission to speak. I settled for nodding faintly, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy both of them.

"So you are still a Parselmouth," Voldemort said, switching back to English, and I hadn't realized that he had been speaking in Parseltongue until that moment. I glanced up at him; he was sitting with his head propped on his hand, looking down at me. It was a very human gesture.

He looked like he wanted me to speak, but he still hadn't given me permission. I shrugged with one shoulder.

"Has Snape robbed you of your tongue, little Parselmouth?" I shook my head, dropping my eyes again.

"My Lord, you have to give him permission to speak."

Voldemort looked up at Malfoy. "He has them trained that well?"

Malfoy nodded. "All the ones I've ever sampled are stubbornly silent unless you give them direct permission to speak. In fact, they're trained so well that it can be... frustrating."

Voldemort looked down at me, his eyes narrowing. "Is that so? Perhaps we should leave this party early. I find the dancing boring."

My heart thudded.

Malfoy looked perturbed. "Hystrix is just about to start his show, my Lord."

Voldemort yawned. "It'll be the same thing he does every year. Flay the skin off a screaming wretch, and then force them to service someone. It's not exactly a new show." He reached down and ran his fingernails along the back of my neck. I shivered as gooseflesh came up. "Now, this... this is a novelty."

Malfoy looked like he had been sipping lemon juice instead of wine. "As you wish, my Lord."

Voldemort rested his hand on the back of my neck. It was dry, and very warm. I could feel the tips of his nails prickling against my skin. "Stand."

I rose to my feet, keeping my head bowed. His hand rested on my neck the whole time. I realized, as I stood, that he wasn't that much taller than me anymore.

Nagini twined around my feet, and she felt huge. I hoped that I wouldn't be required to carry her.

Snape appeared at my elbow. "Is there a problem, my Lord?"

"Your little catamite is ... more interesting than I thought, Severus. I would like to retire for the evening."

I could feel Snape's gaze on me. "Of course, my lord. Let me get you a guide."

Voldemort's voice was soft, creeping. "This castle was broke benith my hand, Severus. There is no place here that I do not know. You remember, surely?" Snape nodded shortly, looking paler. "Which is my suite?"

"You are in the third floor, green, my lord."

"I'm assuming you've already installed one of your servitors there."

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. You will be informed if I have need of anything else ."

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort pushed me in front of him, and I could see people in the room turn to watch us go. On the stage, someone was pushing a struggling man onto over to a whipping post. He looked like a Hufflepuff I used to know. Perhaps an older brother. I could see his scars from here, and was rather grateful that I was leaving, even with Voldemort.

The double doors opened for us, swinging slowly on their hinges. The music faded as they thudded shut behind us. Up sets of stairs and down hallways, the presence of Voldemort steady behind me. I saw no one else.

We stopped before a dark wooden door, and it swung open at a touch.

The carpet was green and thick, and my toes sank into it. I could see my footprints as Voldemort pushed me into the room. Other footprints dotted the room. My neck felt very cold when he pulled his hand away to close the door. The click of the latch was loud, and there was a crackle of magic. I vaguely remembered the door spell from the big holding room, long ago, and knew I was trapped.

Just a normal customer, I though. Just

like every day. I can do this.

His hand slid across my back, touching the edges of the tattoo on my spine.

"Is Lucius correct? Will you only speak if I give you permission?"

I nodded, my eyes glued to the green carpet. Dark green, like leaves in shadow....

"Interesting." He trailed the back of his hand up my spine. I could feel each knuckle as it bumped on the knobs of my spine. I shivered.

"So responsive. Severus has trained you well. But what to do with you?"

I had no answer to that, and so I stood there. My toes curled around the carpet, clutching and letting go.

Voldemort reached the top of my spine and paused, his fingers tapping against my neck. "Hmmm, I wonder..." and before I could think, he raked his nails down my back.

I gasped, arching, as the pain pulsed up my spine. My hands clutched at nothing, and I bowed my head, trying to get my breathing under control.My back burned.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort said, coming around to stand in front of me. He put one finger under my chin, tipping my head back. "I thought so. That's not anger on your face, boy. Not by a long shot." The finger moved up, brushing my bangs off my forehead. He tapped the scar there with his nail, then scored it lightly down my cheek, close to my eye. "What an interesting development. Were you like this before? Or did Severus do this to you? Perhaps living with those Mudbloods gave you a taste for filth."

I could smell him again, dust and dry and sweet. I was on unsteady ground. I didn't know what to do. I breathed out hard as his nails drew down my throat, and my eyes slid shut despite myself.His nails were very sharp, and I could feel a sticky trail forming on my back. I wondered if Voldemore was exempt from the no damage rule. Probably. His other hand slid up my ribs, flat fingertips catching on the ridges of my new tattoo. He rubbed a finger across the scabs, and the sting made me twitch my shoulder.

"Be still."

And that was an order, firm and hard, and I did it, without question. He traced my tattoo, all the little feathers, and scratched new lines into me. I could feel beads of blood welling. I didn't move.

His fingers wandered down my chest to my nipples. He rubbed his thumbs over them, and they stiffened further. He made a pleased sound.

"Doesn't it shame you, boy, that it is I doing this to you? Where is your spirit? I thought you would have tried ten times to kill me by now."

I had no answer for him.

He didn't seem to expect one, anyway.

"Over to the bed, boy."

I went, my footsteps silent. The air cooled the sweat I hadn't felt until that moment. I stood by the bed, waiting for further instructions.

"Sit on the edge."

I did so, keeping my eyes anywhere but on his face.

He put his wand and my contract on the round table by the bed. The scroll rolled to rest next to a water-beaded goblet. I could see drops of water soaking into the parchment. He stood in front of me, his fingers rubbing at his robe. I heard a faint wet sound. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck again."So good, so obedient. Had I known this, boy, I would have taken you before. So pleasant not to fight, isn't it? Just be a good little slave and you won't have to fight ever again."

I stared at my knees.

"Suck me," he said, and my mind shut down, just went blank. I reached for his robe with numb fingers, watched distantly as I undid the buttons and smoothed the cloth open. He was wearing silk trousers under his robe, and this reminded me so much of Snape that it was suddenly much easier. This was just a client, nothing more, and I could do this.

I could.

He was hard in his trousers, and I trailed my fingers over him, rubbing the edges of his cock. He was shaped oddly. His hand on my neck pulled me forward, and I took a deep breath, my nose filled with the dry sweet smell of him. I leaned forward, letting my cheek rest on his hip, my lips just touching the silk of his trousers with my lips. He shifted, his cock coming to rest just against my lips. I breathed out, forcing warm air though the cloth. He moaned a bit. I turned my head, letting my lips explore his contours. He wasn't overly large, as I had half expected. There was something odd about the head of his cock, though, and I lingered there, tonguing him softly, trying to work out what it was. The silk clung to my tongue, and I let more wetness gather, smoothing the silk onto his cock, painting spit along his length. I could faintly taste him, musk and dust and blood iron. His hand clenched on the back of my neck, and the other pushed past my cheek, working his pants open. I pulled back.

His cock, still half trapped in the wet silk, was the color of bloodless flesh. I caught the silk in my teeth, pulling it away from him. His cock slid against my cheek, freed at last.

I could see now what my tongue had felt. The head of his cock was covered in soft lookin

"Suck me, boy." And I did, letting my mouth hang open. His cock slid across my cheek and across my lips, and I closed my mouth around the tip.

On my tongue, the spines flared briefly before laying down again. His hand on my neck slid into my hair, and I sucked lightly at him, letting him slide a bit farther into my mouth. He pulled at my hair, and I opened my mouth wider, letting him slide deeper. His other hand worked into my hair, and he pushed harder. I sucked hard at him once, feeling the spines flare again, and then took a deep breath and relaxed completely, letting him control my head.

He gave a surprised grunt as his pushing suddenly slid him all the way in, and I felt his hairless groin press against my lips. He filled my throat. My eyes watered a bit, but I didn't move. I could hold my breath for a minute, maybe more. I would wait him out.

He held me there for a long time, just pressing steadily into my mouth, his hands kneading my hair softly. Just as my lungs started to ache, he pulled back, and I sucked in a lungful of air around him. He hissed as the air cooled his cock.

"Again," he said softly, and I shut my eyes, a tear escaping as I sucked him down again.

****

He was sleeping.

I washed my hands in a basin by the window, looking out across the cold grounds. This was higher up in the castle than I had been in weeks, not counting the Coraxis tower, and the castle looked more... like it used to.The moonlight glinted off the lake as a tentacle broke the surface.

I put my hand against the glass, letting the chill seep into the skin. It was very dark. Voldemort made a snorting noise, and I glanced at the bed. The bed, still mostly made, looked very far away. When I took my hand off the window, I could see a fogged outline of my hand. The opposite of a handprint. An absence of handprint.

That's what I felt like. I thought I would feel different, that the last hour would have changed me. Instead I felt like only the absence of scars marked this moment.

I washed my hands again, and stole a sip of wine from the glass on the table.It was bitter. I turned off the lights, letting the firelight have the room.

I glanced at the clock. I should let him sleep for a few more minutes. Technically I should be in bed, curled next to him... but I couldn't do it. I had tried, after he had finished, to curl around him... but my body moved away from him even as I tried to move closer, and I ended up laying flat on my back, staring up at the canopy.

He had snickered, half asleep. "Run all you like, boy. You can't leave this room, and I'll only be asleep for a few minutes." He yawned. "Don't go too far."

And I had bounced up as soon as his flat, snaky eyes had slid shut.

The carpet marked my movement; scuffs and swirls and lines marking my passage. I wandered over to the fireplace again, holding my hands out to the flame. The warmth hurt my fingers, still cold from the window. I could still taste him in my mouth.

I heard a shuffling step, and glanced at the bed again. No; Voldemort still slept, splayed out on the bed, robe half undone. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and I looked around for the source of the noise.

Brae came out from the back room. I frowned, but when he came to me, I didn't turn him away.

He rubbed his beak across my cheek, and I scrubbed my hand through his head feathers. He wasn't much shorter than the adult Coraxis, but he hadn't filled out. As of yesterday, he had still been eating every few hours, fueling the incredible growth spurt.

I raised my hands to sign at him, and he shook his head, catching my fingers in his. He looked up at me with one shiny black eye, head tilted. I tried to read his expression, and couldn't.

He stroked his beak over my hand, back and forth. His head feathers shifted. I stroked his head again; he twitched against my hand, and then pulled away, looking at the bed.

I tried to sign again, and again he stopped me. He drew me over to his curtained alcove, and pushed me inside.

Quiet, he signed, and I nodded.

He pushed his hands together, and then pulled them apart as a satchel appeared between them. He shook his head, a bit unsteady on his feet. I grabbed his shoulder to steady him, and he shrugged me off, signing hurry, hurry and I didn't know what he was doing so I didn't do anything. He pulled two bottles from the bag, one the familiar bottle that I had been taking for days. I snatched it from him as he held it out.

I pulled the cork and downed it gratefully. I needed that haze, that wash of unawareness, needed it so badly that at first the taste of the potion didn't register -

It burned. I gasped, and Brae's scaly hand clapped over my mouth, the feathers of his wing brushing my chin. My knees buckled as I curled around my stomach. It tasted like ink and acid and fire, and it hit my stomach like a rock thrown into a puddle, splashing everything up and around and something shifted, rising up. I vomited, suddenly, all over Brae's feathered hands; again, and again, retching up the foul burning potion and Voldemort's come and Brae pushing me forward, letting me retch into the bag open at his feet, and he wiped his wet hands across my back. I tried to stop him, still gagging, but he put a clawed foot on my head and held me still, and kept wiping his fingers on my back. I heaved, and he pressed down harder, his fingers making patterns and swirls and twists, and I sagged against the ground, letting him do whatever he wanted, feeling ill and dizzy and weak.

He stopped after a few moments, and helped me to my feet. The vomit didn't smell right, didn't smell like much of anything, but the taste of it in my mouth made me spit and spit and spit. Brae produced a towel and wiped my face and hands, and then wiped his hands. He gave me a drink of from the other bottle, and the strong taste of firewhiskey killed the taste. He picked up the sopping bag, and ran a cleaning cloth over the carpet before throwing everything, including the bottles, into the bag. He knotted the top firmly, and then held it between his hands. He shut his eyes and went still, and then pushed his hands together. The bag disappeared between them.

What I started, but he stopped me.

Outside the curtain, Voldemort made some little noise, and Brae touched his fist to his beak solemnly, and then hugged me hard. His scaled hands turned me and shoved me out of the curtain. I swayed, feeling dizzy. I had no idea what had just happened, but I felt too sick to care. I snagged some more wine off the table, downing the whole glass. My stomach started to settle, finally. My back felt cold where Brae had wiped his fingers on me, but I put it out of my mind. Whatever just had happened... the whiskey and the wine made my head spin, and I wove my way over to the bed.

The bed dipped as I crawled back in, and the motion woke Voldemort fully. He didn't move for a long moment, but I could tell he was awake. Maybe he was seeing what I would do? I lay down, facing him. The pillow was cold against my head. One eye slatted open, barely visible in the low light, and he turned his head, looking at me.

"You're still here," he said, and made it a question.

I nodded.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake , boy. You can talk."

"Yes, sir," I said, and my voice rasped. I coughed a bit into the pillow.

"You've been drinking, little toy," he said, and I nodded. His pale tongue licked across his lips, and he reached for me. I let him touch my face, his fingers creeping across my chin and up my cheek. I shut my eyes, letting his fingertips ghost across my eyelids and up onto my forehead.

He touched my scar, and my stomach clenched. He felt the movement and chuckled a little, the bed shifting. "Don't you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes, sir," I said, the rote words falling from my lips. I knew they weren't convincing, but... I couldn't do any better than that.

"Little liar." His finger traced the scar again, and the whorls of his fingerprint caught on the knotted flesh. I shuddered.

He leaned closer, his hand never leaving my head. "Severus assures me that you have no magic left in you. That he has taken your magic and broken your spirit, and that you, who once were my enemy, has become nothing more than a toy for me to do with as I please."

I breathed though the tightness in my chest. My voice struggled out. "Yes, sir."

He laughed again. His breath smelled of wine and rot.

"But I wonder... Severus, while loyal, has always had... thoughts. And I can't help but wondering at how easily he gave you up to me. Perhaps he has... plans, as well as thoughts."

I opened my eyes, confused.

"Thoughts that I can't get from him. But you? You have become... accessible."

And that was all the warning I had before he delved into my mind, the hand gripping hard onto my forehead.

I was back on the room with Bili and Taru... no, Ron, ran and Hermione, and one of the twins, and we had gold balls floating over our heads shift I was signing a huge book, and watching it track my footsteps as I moved away shift I was watching Hermione sign the book, Snape snapping at her while holding an unconscious Ron shift I was watching Snape lift the Coraxis that Hermione had hurt, and listening to him tell us that if one died all five would shift I was standing on the ledge in the bathing room, watching Ron sink into the water shift I was strapped to a bench in the vindicta with Snape's teeth in my shoulder shift I was washing bottles when Lucius Malfoy showed up and my anger shot a bottle across the room at him shift I was strapped to a cross, and Snape was drawing runes on me -

No, no no, don't, please. Not this!

And Snape was drawing runes on me, brighter and brighter, and I could

feel magic gathering inside me, growing into a knot. Pain pulsed in my head where I had slammed it against the wood. My fingers clenched hard on the rope and Snape touched me, working my cock, making the magic spiral tighter and tighter inside me, and I could feel it pulling away from the edges inside me like peeling skin, contracting down into a single point. I tried to hold on, tried to keep it inside me, but I couldn't, couldn't and then everything broke apart, a great rushing wave of pain coming out of me, spurting into Snape's thieving, cruel mouth -

I cried out, my insides raw. Voldemort leaned closer, putting his head next to mine. I couldn't turn my head away. He inhaled against my cheek.

\- and then I was empty, empty like a balloon with a hole in it, all the air rushing out and leaving nothing behind, and no matter how much air you poured into it would just rush out again shift I was sitting on my bed, watching Snape explain to Ron and Hermione that he had their families, and knowing I would sign the contract for them shift I was jerking off furiously, my foot grinding and broken and the pain was fantastic, filling me up, burning the raw empty places inside me, the empty hole inside me a cold place in the heat, and Snape smirked as I came into the bowl of ink shift I was signing my name, my new, strange name, to a contract shift I was watching Snape hold the contracts, two with twisting ribbons, one with limp ribbons shift I was washing dishes and trying to talk to the Coraxis shift I was kneeling with Ron and Hermione, mouth open, tasting cock for the first time shift I was touching Jericho, rubbing his back as he knelt in front of me, Snape kneeling behind me -

and I felt my body shift, the pain of losing my magic twisting into the pleasure of that first time -

my fingers sliding into his wet mouth, and Snape's oily fingers pushing past my lips. I felt Jericho twine his slick soft tongue around my fingertips, and I did the same to Snape, sucking and licking, doing everything that Jericho did to my fingers to Snape's. We shifted, moving onto our knees, and I slid my wet fingers into Jericho as Snape pushed into me, and I could feel everything, everything, and my cock was so hard

\- hard enough to rub against Voldemort's side as he leaned over me, his forearm clamped across my ribs, holding me down as his fingernails dug into my head -

cock was so hard and I could feel the slick hot grip of Jericho's ass as I pushed into him, feeling Snape push into me too, and then I couldn't do anything other than gasp and writhe against the wet skin of Jericho's back as Snape rocked me forward, fucking me hard. I spread my knees, pushing back onto Snape's cock

\- cock pushing at my hole, Voldemort kneeling behind me, his naked chest clammy and wet against my back, holding me up by the hand clamped around my forehead, and I flailed, caught between the memory and the reality, feeling blood trickle down my face, into my eyes, my panting mouth -

mouth open against Jericho's neck, licking and sucking because I had to do something, something, and Snape's teeth digging into the muscle between my neck and back, making it better, making it hurt and my brain turn off and making me bite down hard into Jericho, feeling him jerk, almost getting away, and pulling him back, holding him still as I marked him, blood running down my neck

\- running down my neck, dripping onto the pale green sheets, leaving red-black spots in the firelight, and Voldemort was inside me, inside me in my head and in my body, his cock tearing at me, and everything ran together, Snape and Voldemort and my cock so hard and the firelight and the smell of blood and sweat and I could hear myself gasping, here and there and everything hurt. It was fantastic and terrible and I fell forward, catching myself on one hand as I spread my knees, fucking myself onto that strange alien cock as my other hand found mine and worked it hard, blood splattering down onto the sheets. I wrenched my head against his hand, not to pull away, but to make his nails dig in more and my hand on my cock felt like my cock in Jericho's body, and the room flickered around me, memory and reality forced together, and Voldemort was making a choking noise against my back, his hand on my head trembling and finally breaking free, and Jericho and Snape flickered out of existence and it was just the two of us there, and I was so close and I didn't want him and I hated him -

-and I hated him. It was the sucking hole inside me, a hate-filled maelstrom tearing me up, sucking bits of myself away with it, and it seemed to be sucking something out of him, up through my body and into this black hole, like a tornado inhaling smoke from a fire.

He was still gasping against my back, his hips working frantically, the sound human and powerless and weak. I ground down against him, forcing his distorted cock deeper, harder, working my hand on my cock. Blood ran down my face from five separate punctures, from the welling, burning bite on my shoulder, and I swiped my hand across my chest, wrapping the bloody fingers around my dripping cock, and set out to make Voldemort know exactly how human he was.

Whatever was happening got stronger, and I felt whatever it was inside me filling me up, pushing through my limbs and I felt like a balloon, like breathing after having no lungs, like I could fly, fly ... Now he was pushing against my back, hands wet with my blood, scrabbling to push me away, and I didn't let him, didn't let him. I rocked back onto my knees, pushing him up and over and back, and he seemed weaker, his hands scratching but not with as much force, and I heaved, knocking him over, out of me. He gasped, as if in pain, and started to rise. I growled, turning and throwing a leg over his hip, impaling myself on him again.

He hissed, hand groping for his discarded robe. For his wand, I supposed, and I snarled down at him, kicking it off the bed. I moved my hips again, and the whirlpool sucked at him.He scratched my thighs, my belly, my churning hips, and I caught his arms, my own hands stronger than I remembered, and his chest glowed faintly, smeary swirls and lines -

Snape drawing runes on me, glowing, glowing, and feeling weaker and weaker as Snape worked my cock, feeling my magic draw together-

I grabbed his flailing hands, pushing them to the mattress, and pulled my legs up under me, thrusting myself down on his cock harder. I could feel the spines now, raking inside me every time I lifted myself off his cock, and the pain only made this better. My cock, still hard, bounced against my stomach. It left bloody marks.

Brae painting swirls down my back as I heaved-

The punctures on my head from his nails dripped blood down onto his face, and I could see it in his face when he realized he couldn't get away, couldn't save himself. His mouth opened to scream -

And I dropped forward, filling his mouth with my tongue, kissing him hard. He screamed anyway, and I ate it from his mouth, grinding my lips down on his. and I could see the glow from the runes start to condense toward his groin. He thrashed, almost throwing me off, and his teeth clamped down on my tongue. Blood spurted, and now he ate the scream out of my mouth. The thing inside me pushed up into my mouth, filling my tongue with bright sparks.

But the glow was bright, and his face was sinking in on itself. My blood ran from between our lips. I could hardly breathe through the pain. But my cock was still hard, and so was his, and I could feel the orgasm building inside me. My hips started to move faster, harder, the motion shredding my tongue between his teeth, and he shrieked again, his teeth meeting. My tongue went numb, and I reared back, spraying blood across his chest - and I was coming, coming hard, and he arched under me, all the light from the runes rushing downward in a blinding flash. I felt like all of him was rushing up out of him and into me, and something small and hard came out of his cock and up into me. I came again, feeling magic rush back into my body, filling up all the empty places inside me like water flooding a dry river. I yelled, falling backward, light burning up my skin and out of my mouth, light everywhere, filling my eyes and my fingers and my skin and my blood, and splatters of light touched Voldemort as he writhed beneath me, and then something twisted inside me, and the black hole closed with a soundless, echoing crash.

Everything went white, and then, as I fell forward onto the greasy pile of scales and skin that used to be Voldemort, everything went black.

***************************

Someone was shaking my shoulder frantically. It hurt. Everything hurt, and I moaned -

And then I was jerking awake, scrabbling at my mouth, pushing fingers past my sore lips to find, find...

Nothing. A ruin of flesh that used to be my tongue. It didn't hurt... didn't feel like anything, and I touched it over and over, my mind not believing what my fingers told me. I pulled my fingers out, staring at them, thinking that they should be covered in blood. I couldn't see in the dim light.

I stared at my hands hard, and they were trembling.A black hand wrapped around mine, and the contrast between dark flesh and white didn't make any sense at first.

Brae pulled on my hand, and I looked up.

You are ok, right? Brae signed with his other hand, and I just stared at him blankly. He hauled me to my feet. I stumbled as a patch of thin, papery skin peeled away. Brae pulled at me, but I just stood there, looking at the human shaped bag of skin and scales and dust that lay on the bed, faintly smoking.

I felt nausea rising.

Don't look at that, he signed.

I barely could see his dark fingers in the firelight. Not good to look at. We have to go. Don't have much time. I let him lead me away.

Time for what? I signed, my fingers streaked black with blood. As we passed the little table by the window, the breeze from Brae's wings made my contract roll. It fell, softly, to the ground, the ribbons half undone.

He pulled me into the curtained alcove and twitched his hand. A ball of pale light bloomed above his head. I blinked at it. My eyes hurt.

Open, he signed, and I looked at him blankly.

Open, and he put his fingers to my mouth. I shook my head, my stomach clenching. But his fingers poked and pried and I felt too sick and broken to fight him. He tipped his head, staring into my mouth, and I could see the glowing light reflected on his shiny black eye. I tried not to look, but I could see a glint of light from my teeth, and something that moved as I watched.

My tongue, or what was left of it.

I yanked my head away, closing my mouth with a snap.

Brae looked at me.

It is healed, he signed, you are lucky.

Lucky? I signed, my hand jerking the sign at him.

Yes. Your magic healed it. If this had not happend, you might have bled to death before you woke up.

I don't have any magi-

And then I stopped. Brae looked me with his beetle black eye. I put my hand on my chest, feeling the clotted blood stick to my fingers, and pressed. I felt... warm. Warm, and still, and I had gotten so used to the cold, aching hole in me that I had forgotten it.

You'd better have some, because I need it. Brae said, and grabbed me around the middle.

Need it for what, I wanted to ask, but then he did...something, and I felt a rush like I did when I did a spell, and it felt like I was being squeezed down into a tiny point-

\- and then I expanded again, and I was in a different room entirely. Brae sagged against me, and I held him up. More Coraxis appeared, taking him from me. I looked up, recognizing most of Brae's clutch.

Fah looked over at me. Thank you,she said, and I didn't know what she was thanking me for, so I didn't say anything. I looked around.

Where are we? What did he do?

She looked over to where Brae was being cooed over by his siblings. He Migrated. We were not sure if he could take you with him, but... You're his Godfather, and he can Borrow from you almost as well as he can from us.

Migrate? Borrow? I was very confused. My head hurt, and the blood was drying in sticky trails down my skin. What's going on?

She shook her head. Too much to tell you now. We can't Migrate out of Here, there's not enough of us There. Your friends are in the outer room, entertaining.

My head jerked around, and I looked at the curtain.Fah's touch on my arm pulled me back around. They can't hear us. We're making it quiet in here. But we have to plan.

Brae was standing again, though he was leaning a feathery shoulder against one of his brothers.

Godfather, he signed, you have to get the rest of your clutch, and then we must go.

His brother made a pained noise, and buried his beak under Brae's wing. Brae rubbed his beak over the bent head.

Go?

Brae tipped his head. Do you want to stay?

Go where? Back to Snape's rooms?

Fah started to laugh, in that croaking way the Coraxis did. Brae gaped his own beak. If you want, he signed, but the plan was that we'd get to the Forest.

Plan? What plan? I was so confused. I felt all right, better than all right, even. The magic was healing the scratches and lines, the closing over the bleeding places. I could feel them tingle and spark as they healed. My tongue tingled a lot. But I wasn't doing it, wasn't directing the magic, and it was just capping over everything with scar tissue. My tongue was thick with it. It made those raw, empty places inside me tingle, too, as it healed the pain of losing my magic. I wondered if I'd have scars there, too.I still didn't want to think of the bag of skin and... other things that I left on the bed in the other room. This was all too confusing and I couldn't make sense of it.

Snape's plan, signed Brae, and I stared at him. For a moment the words made no sense.

"Wah?" I said out loud without thinking, and then stopped, clamping my lips shut. Snape's plan? This was part of a plan? Something in me leapt, and my vision spun for a moment. My hands clenched, hard, and the blood stuck under my nails squished. It was still wet.

And my face was wet too. Brae pulled away from his clutch mates to come to me, wrapping his arms around me. He cooed and clucked in my ear as I crumpled down onto the ground. Brae followed me down, and his nest mates clustered around me. Their feathers blocked out the light, and for a minute I was held in close, safe darkness.

I cried like I had as a child, locked in the room beneath the stairs, comforted by the closeness of the walls and the solidness of the door. There was security in a locked room, knowing exactly how far you could stretch your arms out before they hit a barrier, knowing that even though it was dark you knew exactly where you were, and what you were supposed to be doing.

The walls I thought were there turned out to be nothing more than an elaborate illusion, and seeing through it made me feel very small and scared. Snape's plan... But his plan for what exactly? How was I supposed to get out of here? And what would I do then? There was no place for Modha outside of those walls... but Harry didn't really know how to live outside, either. I cried, unable to stop it, feeling out of control and wild. My stomach hurt.

After a while, my sobs died, and I just lay there, cushioned by their arms.

They pulled back, one by one. The light came back gradually. I sat up, starting to rub at my eyes with my hands, but stopping when I saw how covered in filth they were.

Brae was the last to let go. So, he signed, what's next?

All of the Coraxis were looking at me expectantly.

Why ask me? I signed. It's Snape's plan.

They looked at each other, and then at me.

Snape said he would tell you tonight what to do next, Brae signed, and I shut my eyes. Snape's plan, but I didn't know it. I didn't know anything. Everything was wrong, broken. Even the spell binding me against hurting Voldemort had unraveled like a poorly tied rope.

I bit back a laugh. A rope tied as poorly as the one around the actor who played me in the play.

And, suddenly, blindingly, everything became clear. I staggered, dizzy again, and sat down hard.

A rope that did not tie... a contract that did not bind. It couldn't have been a coincidence. Snape had put that there on purpose. To tell me what would happen?

No, how could I know? He must have been telling me something else. But what? I wished Hermione were with me, figuring this out. But Hermione was gone, and Bili was out there with the Death Eaters, and I had to figure this out for all of us.

What else had happened in the play? Dumbledore had scared himself with the mirror, and the Death Eaters had attacked... we had fought them off, and were overwhelmed... Snape hexed us unconscious, and then when we woke up, took our wands -

Took our wands. But he didn't take Hermione's. Hermione gave him a ruler instead.

Hermione still had her magic.

I shook my head. It wasn't possible. If she had her magic, she would have used it by now. I was sure of it. Even without her wand, she would have done something.

Something nagged at my memory. Something she had said right after we lost our magic... "It’s gone. But I can’t feel it. Not like Ron said he can, nor you."

I looked up at Brae and his siblings. I have a plan,I signed.

I outlined the plan to them, and they fretted and argued, but eventually agreed. Fah gave me the layout of the room. Brae's remaining brother, Seht, was actually out there, being an 'attendant'. Fah tipped her head, her eyes going dull for a moment. They became glossy again, and she said that one of the three men slept deeply, and the other two were... distracted. I didn't ask any more than that.

Okay, we can do this. But I need my wand...

Brae nodded with his whole torso. Thought so, thought so. Here. He reached under his wing and pulled something tucked in with his feathers. He held it out to me.

Voldemort's wand. I shied away, not wanting to use something so tainted by dark magic. I wasn't even sure it would work for me. But something in me yearned for it, and I took it in my blood-streaked hand. A zing of magic went through me, and I gasped. Yes. The magic in me knew this wand, knew it and could use it. I flicked it through the air, and a few dark green sparks flew. Voldemort's magic filled me, and his wand was exactly right for that.

I grinned, feeling scar tissue stretch.

"et's go."

****

Dolohov had his back to me when I slipped into the room. I could see his hips pumping, and the edge of a pale, freckled leg. Bili rode the second man, her hands tied together and hooked to the ornamental metalwork above the bed. Her eyes were closed. I looked for the third man, and found him curled on the sofa, fast asleep, his legs spread and a ridiculous smile on his face. The room stank of sweat and sex.

I would have snorted, but I didn't want to alert them. I slid behind a large potted plant by the fireplace. A whole box of toys sat by the bed, paddles and floggers and other things, but, other than the rope, it looked like they had never gotten around to using them. A large clock by the door counted down; they only had a half hour left.

I frowned. That didn't give us much time.

As soon as their time was up, someone would start looking for Bili and Taru. I knew that we had less than two hours before we would be really missed. I needed to do this as fast and quietly as possible.

Bili opened her eyes and spotted me. I put my finger to my lips. Her hands twitched above the rope.

What?

Act normal. We're getting out of here. Keep them distracted.

Her eyes widened, glancing at the wand in my hand, but then she nodded faintly, turning the motion in a full body ripple that made the man beneath her moan. I saw his hands come up to grab her hips.

I needed to know where their wands were. I could see one poking out of a discarded robe on the bed. The man asleep on the couch had his in hand, curled loosely on the back of the sofa. I couldn't see where the third was.

Voldemort's wand fit into my hand. I didn't know how to cast without speaking, though, and I didn't trust my mangled tongue with a wingardum levosa. I clenched my fingers hard on the pale wood, and tried to make the wand on the bed come to me.It rolled a bit, but didn't move toward me.

Dolohov shifted, pulling Taru up onto his knees. I slid farther behind the potted plant, hoping the flickering light and shadow would hide me. I could just see Taru's profile. His eyes were squeezed shut. His fists were clenched.

Bili, if I can get you that wand, will you use it?

I can't! She signed, her face slightly panicked. I hoped the man below her had his eyes shut.

Yes, you can. I paused. She hadn't been able to use her magic all this time just because she thought she couldn't. I had to make her believe she could. I fixed it. You've got magic... You've got to take out Dolohov. I can take the sleeping one... and then the one beneath you will be our only problem. You've got to do something strong enough that even though it's not your wand, it'll work. You can do it.

I hoped to God that I was right. If not, we were all about to go out in one bloody flash.

Dolohov bent his head, biting at Taru's neck. Taru's arms came up and wrapped around his head. I could see his throat move faintly. Bili made some little noise, and he opened his eyes. Bili looked straight at him, and then at me. He glanced over.

I saw him freeze. No, no, I thought, and tensed. This was about to get ugly.

"What's wrong, little crow? Too much for you?" Dolohov said, his voice horse, his head still bent to Taru's neck. Taru groaned, and nodded, his head falling back. Bili started signing at him frantically, her hands twitching so fast I couldn't quite catch what she was saying. Taru nodded again, and she looked at me.

One, she mouthed, her hands open and loose.

Two, Taru signed.

Three, I thought.

Taru fell forward onto his hands, rocking hard back into Dolohov, who dropped his head back, moaning. Taru's fingers slid into the robe, and then he was up and pushing the wand into Bili's hands as he came back onto his knees and thrust backwards, pushing Dolohov off balance. He backed up a step, laughing, and then Taru dove for the man beneath Bili, leaving Dolohov to stare down the point of the wand Bili had pointed at his head. He froze, mouth still opened to laugh, and Bili snapped out a spell that caught him in the face. He went over backwards, screaming, and I was already moving, jumping over his body to get to the man on the couch. He was moving, waking up at the noise, and the spell I tried to say came out so garbled that nothing happened. I threw the wand down and launched myself at him, hitting him in the stomach hard with my knee, my hands scrabbling for the wand in his hand.

He yelled, and I slammed my elbow into his mouth, pain racing up my arm, but he was awake and trying to point the wand at me. I had to stop him from sounding some kind of alarm. I slid my hand up to the tip of the wand and yanked, pushing with my bottom hand. It cracked with a sickly noise, and magic spurted warmly from the break, stinging my fingers. The man yelped, and I let go of the broken wand to punch him in the nose. I was making too much noise, too much noise, and I couldn't stop punching him. He was weak and I needed for something, somebody, to pay for this. His hands flailed at me, and I hit him again, narrowing my eyes against the vertigo.

Then Taru was there, and he slammed the pitcher of water into the man's head, and suddenly everything was quiet.

I panted, looking up at Taru. His face was distant, but his eyes were bright. The dizziness faded.

The others? I signed, and he shook his head.

"Taken care of." He motioned with his chin, and I turned to see Bili climbing off the body of the man on the bed. Her hands, still tied, were looped around his neck, the rope tight. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. A trickle of blood ran from his mouth. Dolohov was on the ground, his face yellowed and frozen.

The Coraxis came out of hiding, pulling a few bags and swarming over to Bili and getting her untied. Fah handed her a potion to drink, and I saw her take it. She shook her head after she swallowed, like a hippogryph shaking off a fly. I slid off of the couch, my knees weak. Taru caught my arm.

"You ok?"

I started to nod, and then shook my head. Not really, I signed. I hoped that he would think that I couldn't talk because Snape had silenced me, and not ask.

He didn't.

"You're covered with blood," he said instead. "Is it yours?"

Some of it. My heart rate started to slow, and I sighed, shaking out my bruised arm.

Brae grabbed me by the elbow, and I turned.

We don't have much time, he signed, and I nodded.

We have to go, I signed at Taru. Bili, her face pale, came to stand next to us. She had two wands in her hand. She handed one to Taru, who just looked at it.

"Why do I need this?" he asked, his voice dull.

"Because Modha got us our magic back..." and she stopped as both Taru and I shook our heads. "What do you mean, no? You've got magic, I've got magic - "

"But I still don't," said Taru, and handed the wand back to her. She looked confused.

"How do you know? Come on, try it!"

He shook his head again. "I know I can't."

Her lips thinned. "I think you're just being stubborn. I didn't think I could do it either, but I could, and -"

I caught her shoulder. Bili, leave it alone, I signed. We have to go, anyway. We can talk about it later.

She sniffed, but nodded. Fah slid up to her with a robe, and she struggled into it.

Brae handed me my own robe. It was green, like the servitors in the potions lab wore, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

Fresh from the laundry, he signed, and I nodded. The cloth felt odd against my shoulders; hot and confining. I realized that I hadn't been in clothing for a very long time.

Brae gave Taru a bottle of the potion, and he drank it without comment. When it hit him, he shook all over, and some of that terrible dullness left his face. He pulled on the robe Brae handed him without comment, but as he buttoned it, he shot a glance at me.

Couldn't get mine back? he signed.

Not that, I signed. I didn't get anybody's back.

His brow furrowed. But -

I stopped him. This isn't my magic, Taru,I signed. It's His. Voldemort's. I ... took it. I swallowed against the sudden swell of bile, my heart thudding.

His eyes got very round. "What?" he said, out loud, and Bili's head popped up.

"What?" she said, coming over. Her knees showed under the robe, and for some reason that made me flush, just a bit.

I glared at Taru. He shrugged, sheepishly. I didn't want to discuss this with Bili. She'd... ask questions I didn't want to answer. Not right now, maybe never.

Brae saved me by coming over with a washcloth. He pulled at my robe until I bent my head, and proceeded to wash the blood from my face and neck. I shut my eyes, slowly feeling more human. He rubbed the cloth over my hands and forearms, anywhere the robe didn't cover. I cracked an eye to see Fah and Seht doing the same to Bili and Taru. When they were done, the three of us stood there, clothed and clean (mostly) and very... normal.

"Now what?" Bili said, and everyone turned to look at me. I took a deep breath.

All right. Here's what we need to do...

*****

We managed to get out of the room and into the kitchens without anyone seeing us, thanks to the Coraxis and the 'servant’s tunnels'. They felt old, like they were part of the castle long before Snape took it over, and I wondered who had used them. The House Elves didn't need them, and they were slightly smaller than I would think adult wizards needed. I shrugged. Maybe Hermione would know.

The three of us waited in the antechamber while Brae and his clutch scouted ahead. There were no humans in the kitchen, so we slid inside, keeping to the back. The Coraxis in the kitchens watched us, and it seemed to me that they nodded at each other knowingly.

Were they all in on it? I wanted to ask Brae, but he was busy talking to an older Coraxis, one with limp, ungroomed looking feathers. I got the feeling that this was a very, very important creature by the way the rest of the Coraxis moved around it. Brae was nodding now, and leading the bird over to us.

Godfather, this is One.

I bowed to the Coraxis, and Bili and Taru did as well. The bird nodded, and clacked a question at Brae, who translated it for us. One wants to know if you've finished your task.

I blinked. I don't know. I signed, truthfully. I didn't even know there was a plan until after -

And the old bird nodded, stopping me with a raised hand, much more wing-like than Brae's, less human. In fact, it looked much more like a crow than Brae did, as if it was a step back in evolution.

He clacked at Brae, who shook his head and clacked back. He says that he knows you are confused, and that there's no help for it. The Master gave you all the help he could. He says that he can help you, that we have another hour or so before they start looking, but we have to follow him.

I nodded, and the Coraxis turned and walked out. It walked like a bird, rocking from side to side. Brae, at my side, held my hand. We followed it through more of those small tunnels, and I had no idea where we were until we turned a corner and pushed open a section of the wall, and we were in the vindicta.

I had never seen it like this. No fire lit the fireplace, and the bed's curtains were tied back. The bed was stripped down to the mattress. All the benches and tools were against the walls, covered in white cloth. The floor had patches of water on it. In the corner, a few Coraxis were finishing mopping. They looked up as we entered from the wall next to the fireplace. They looked at us, then at One, and all three of them threw themselves onto their bellies. I blinked.

Were they groveling? I glanced at One, who seemed amused. He croaked at them, and they got to their feet. They touched their hands to their beaks, and he inclined his head. One glanced at me, his black eye shining.I paused, then touched my nose with my fist. He nodded at me too.

Brae asked him a question, and he nodded, pointing at a the only cabinet on the wall that didn't have a sheet over it. I wondered how I had never noticed it before; it felt like magic. But perhaps the ache of loosing my magic had hid it from me. Bili's eyes were on the cabinet, too. Taru looked more interested in the windows, where the stars shown faintly.

One gestured at the cabinet, and I blinked at him. I was supposed to do something. I walked over and tried the door, but it was locked. I turned and shrugged at One, who shook his feathery head in what looked like disgust. He stalked over and pecked at my side.

"Ow!" I said, and fierce anger rose in me. I glared at him, rubbing my side. My hand touched Voldemort's wand. I pulled it out, thinking how easy it would be to blast One. My hand shook as I pointed it at the cabinet, aghast at my thoughts. I tapped it against the lock, thinking Alohomora as hard as I could. The door didn't budge. I frowned, and tried again, making the wand movement a bit harder. Nothing.

Bili came up, her borrowed wand in her hand. "May I? You're going to do no good with that until you can speak -" and then she stopped, her eyes narrowing. Her hand came up and grabbed onto my nipple through my robe, squeezing hard.

"OW!" I said again, and slapped her hand away. Next to me, One cackled.

"Alright, so Snape doesn't have your voice. Why don't you just say the spell?"

I shook my head, rubbing at my nipple. Why don't you just do it then? I signed, and stuck the (so far) useless wand back into my pocket. She opened her mouth to say something, but One pecked her shoulder, and she threw her hand into the air.

"Fine! Alohomora," she said, and the door rattled, almost opening. "I hate this wand," Bili said, and shut her eyes, concentrating for a moment. "Alohomora!" The door sprang open, and we jumped back.

A faint green mist came from the inside of the cabinet, rolling out and falling down to pool on the floor. I moved my feet back when it got too close to my toes. Bili pushed the door all the way open, and I caught my breath.

The cabinet was much deeper than it looked. Inside I could see rack upon rack of glass tubes, each with a bright glowing green stone in the bottom. The green mist came from the stone. Some tubes were half full... some only had a bit in the bottom, the stone almost out. Most of the tubes had corks in them, but a few didn't, and I could see that there were corks in the bottom of the cabinet. The uncorked tubes had green mist spilling over the tops. Next to each tube stood a wand.

And at the front of the cabinet stood three tubes, with three very familiar wands. A faint, shimmering barrier glowed just inside the cabinet.

Bili cried out, and reached for her wand, Dolohov's wand clattering to the ground. But as soon as her fingers hit the threshold, the cabinet made a loud buzzing noise, and she yelped, yanking back singed fingers.

Brae tried, but the barrier buzzed before he got within three inches of it. He shook his head.

The buzz sounded like something, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Biting my lip, I tried, too. I couldn't not try; my wand was right there, and I ached to have it. I yelped as my fingers were shocked, and the buzz, again, sounded familiar.

Just like the buzz in the play, when the Harry tried to get the fruit. Just like the buzz the book in the entry hall had made when Hermione had signed it -

I spun around and grabbed Taru's arm. He was looking at everything but the cabinet. I pointed, and he shook his head. I pointed again, too flustered to sign at him. He tried to pull his arm away, his eyes dark. Selfish prick, I thought, and, before I could stop myself, I slapped him. The sound echoed in the room.

He raised his hand to his face, where my handprint already was coming up. Bili was saying something, but I couldn't hear her because Taru had launched himself at me, and I was falling with his hands around my throat. My back hit the stone, my breath whooshed out of me, and we rolled on the ground, his hands in my hair and his voice crashing at me, calling me names and a thousand things and I burned with anger, the need to pound his face in... but the anger twisted up into absurdity, and I was laughing, laughing, because Ron always did have a temper, Ron and not Taru, Taru who was placid and emotionless and cold and Ron was screaming hot air into my face and Hermione was pulling us apart, her face disapproving and that made me laugh harder, until I curled onto myself, laughing so hard I shook. The room spun, and I shut my eyes against it, still laughing.

I heard Hermione trying to calm Ron down, and it was just so fucking typical, so normal, that the laugher brought tears to my eyes, and I put my hands over my face. The tears filled up the space between my hands and my face and seeped out to slide into my hair.

A sharp pain on the back of my hand broke through the mania. It tried to rise again, and before it could, the pain came again, and I pulled my hand away from my face just in time to see One pull his head back for another peck.

"Gah!" I said, and rolled away. Hermione and Ron helped me stand, and Ron had the grace to look a little ashamed. I swayed on my feet, and Hermione steadied me.

The book, I signed at Ron, You never signed the book. We did, but you were unconsious. The wards must be tied into the tracking spell in the book. You have to try.

"So... uh, I'll try to get the wands then, shall I?" Ron said.

I nodded.

Ron's hand passed through the barrier with no trouble, and he pulled out the rack. He set it on the table. I slid my wand out of the rack, and it felt wonderful and right in my hand. I sighed, deeply, and shut my eyes. I could hear Hermione make the same noise. I opened my eyes to see Ron staring at his wand, hunger in his face. His eyes had glints of hope in them. "So, shall I..." and he reached for his wand without waiting for our answer. He took it with no trouble, and sighed as it slid into his palm. He flicked it, but nothing happened. His face fell.

One cawed derisively, and Brae nodded.

One says that you have to take in the seed, he signed, and I suddenly blushed, rembering how I had taken in Voldemort's seed. Hermione glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.I wondered, exactly, how one was supposed to take the seed.

Ron looked at the glass tube and took a deep breath. His hands shook a little when he picked it up, and I hoped fervently that he wouldn't drop it. The cork took some doing to get out, and when it finally pulled free, green mist overflowed onto Ron's hand.

Ron moaned as the mist hit his skin and sank in like water to a dry sponge. I could see sweat break out on Ron's head. Ron stared at the beaker in his hand for a long moment, and then suddenly raised it to his lips and drank it down. The seed inside tinked on the glass as it rolled into his mouth.

Nothing happened for a long moment, and then Ron dropped the beaker and grabbed the table. The beaker cracked when it hit. I scrambled for the pieces before they rolled onto the floor, and a bit of the green mist clinging to them stuck to my fingers. I lifted them, interested, and watched them sink into my skin.

Warmth bubbled up from my stomach, and I groped for Ron's hand as my vision fogged over for a moment. Sweat wet his hand, making it slippery. We clung, and I could feel him trembling. I remembered the great rush of sensation I had when Voldemort's magic filled me. I hoped he wouldn't pass out. I forced my eyes open, not realizing they had closed, and he was grinning at me, his teeth white and shining. The bruises of the night were fading as I watched.

"Wicked."

Hermione examined her beaker. The seed wasn't glowing at all, and there wasn't any mist in the bottle, even though the cork was in tight. She shook the tube, and the seed clinked. It looked like a pebble. She looked up at me.

"So... why do I have my magic?"

I chewed my lip. This wasn't going to go over well, I didn't think.

I don't think you ever lost it, I signed. I think that Snape only pretended to take it from you. I felt a spike of anger, and shook it off.

She frowned.

It makes sense, though,I signed, trying to keep her from thinking about it too hard. Remember, Snape kept telling you you weren't suited for this.

Perhaps the spell wouldn't work on you?

"Yes, but I am quite sure he was referring to the copious amounts of buggery, not the ability of any spell. No," she said, pacing a bit, "No, this had to have been intentional. Why else would he only leave me my magic? And that spell let Taru get the wands."

I saw Ron flinch at the name, and rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. Our hands were still loosely clasped.

One croaked something, and Brae moved into our conversation. One says that the barrier spell is the same one on the doors, and that we don't have much time.

We can talk about this later. Now we need to get out of here. I signed, and they both nodded.

One pecked my hand, and I glared at him. What?

He motioned at the beaker left in the rack, the one with my seed left in it. I flushed. How could I have forgotten?

But I knew exactly how I could have forgotten. Voldemort's magic seethed inside my skin, feeling right at home. I didn’t feel like I was missing any, and so I wasn't as frantic to get at it as Ron had been. I lifted the tube, and the magic flowed out and onto my hand. The beaker was against my lips and I was swallowing the tiny sharp seed before I consciously decided to do so, and the power rushed into me, twice as strong as before. I felt the seed melt, felt it flow out to all places in my body and collide with the magic already there. I swayed, and toppled backward, my vision swimming. Dizzy, so dizzy, and something rose in my head like water in a flooding river, and I gasped as I was pulled under.

***

It was dark. Not dark like the lights had gone out dark, but dark like there had never been any lights to begin with. Ever. I groped for something, anything, in the dark, and found nothing. My fingers gripped tight to the nothing, and I felt along the edges of it, trying to figure out if I could use it to escape.

Escape what? I thought: where am I? I must be in some kind of cell, or prison. The nothing in my hand jolted and became a hard flat bed, and light flickered into life from a torch on the wall. I blinked at the light. The cell looked just like... a cell, really. Like you would imagine a cell would look like, with damp stone walls and rough cobblestone floor. I glanced around, confused, and sat on the bed. The bed didn't creak under my weight... until it did as I shifted, and I frowned at it. I tapped my shoe against the stone, and then looked at my feet in confusion. Shoes? When did I get shoes? Or jeans or this jumper? I didn't even recognize the jumper -but then I did, and it was the one Molly Weasley had knitted for me for that first Christmas I spent at school. Ithough I had lost it when Hogwarts fell. I bounced up, looking around again. The stone looked more... stony, and I realized that the bed wasn't flat and hard, it was my bed from school, four poster and draped in red and gold. I spun around, and the room was just like I left it, with Seamus’s clothes spilling out of his trunk and Ron's Chudley Cannons poster above the bed. I went for the door, my school robe billowing around me slowly, and the door opened like it was underwater. My head throbbed.

The nothing outside of the door became something as my feet touched it, and I pounded down the stairs, my hand guiding my way down the hallway. The stone was rough on my fingertips. The common room was empty, and I yelled, and I could hear the sound echoing around the room even though there was no sound, no sound and no light and the common room spun and I fell against the couch-that-was-not-a-couch, and covered my head with my hands. Silence crashed in my ears, and I screamed.

A great black spike burst from the wall, the stone tearing around it like paper. I looked up, still screaming. The black spike retreated, and real light poured in the tear, and I pushed myself up and over to the hole, pulling at the edges of the tear, making it wider. Wind whistled, and my robe flapped frantically. I pushed through the wind, stepping out into the bright place through the tear. The wind shrieked and the light blinded me. I put my arm up to block the glare -

\- and dropped it, realizing there was no wind, no bright light. I stood on a vague dusty plane that stretched out on all sides forever. I panted for air, clutching my sides. I was alone. I picked a direction and started walking, the ground rolling away beneath my feet as if I stood still and the world moved around me. I stopped, changed directions, and kept walking. My footsteps made no noise. I began to run, wishing I had my broom. I didn't know where I was running to, but I couldn't just stand there.

I ran, my feet pounding on the plain, but I never got tired, and no sweat broke on my forehead. I ran faster.

Something glimmered on the edge of my vision, and I changed directions again, skidding on the plain.There were some kind of marks here, scuffed footprints, and I followed the path they made. I could see them on the horizon, now, flashes of light and faint booms that rolled out across the plane . My pace slowed, but the combatants seemed to come closer, and I could see them clearly. A monstrous snake snapped and struck at a huge crow that flapped just out of reach. The crow kept diving at the snake's head, and the snake reared back and launched itself at it as it flew by.

I came to a halt. The snake was bigger than a dragon, bigger than Hogwarts, and a feather the size of the house on Privet Drive sank down near me. The sounds were terrible: the crow's repeated, cackling screams and the snake's hisses reverberated in my head. I couldn't tell what the snake was saying -

\- except now I could, and my knees gave out as its words resolved themselves in my ears .

"The boy is mine, you thrice-damned traitor. He's trapped in that little fantasy world inside his mind - OW!"

The crow screamed, and raked its claws down the tail of the snake. The snake, enraged, whipped around and caught the bird's leg in a coil of tail, dragging it down. The crow squawked as it lost ground, flapping hard to stay aloft. The snake hummed smugly, and I saw it open its jaw, pulling back to strike.

"No!" I ran toward them. As I got closer I realized it wasn't so big, only a bit bigger than the dragon of the Triwizard Tournament, and I wished I had my broom, or my wand. The snake caught sight of me, and shut its jaw carefully, rocking it from side to side to reset it. His body rippled with muscle as it slowly wrapped the bird in coil upon coil. The crow gaped its beak, its pale gray tongue lolling.

"So you've escaped already, I see. I suppose that bird made enough damage that you could find your way out." Another coil of body wound around the crow, and I realized, sickly, that it was One that lay gasping in his grasp.

Voldemort laughed, and the sound from a reptile throat made me sick. I took a deep breath, stepping closer.

"Yes, little hero. Come over here so I can get my teeth in you. I seem to recall already having eaten one piece of you." He snapped his jaw at me, I remembered his teeth in my tongue, and the feeling of yanking my head away, leaving something red and wet left in his mouth. I shuddered, and my tongue felt stiff and dead. I scrapped the stump of my tongue across my back teeth, and swallowed hard. I stepped forward.

Voldemort's eyes flashed, and he uncoiled a little from One to rear up. His head wasn't much taller than mine, and, as I stepped closer, I realized he really wasn't taller than me at all. He shuffled backward, unwinding a bit more so that he could rear above me. One gasped in a breath, and wheezed a few words.

"Any day now, Potter,"

And it wasn't just One, not just a crow, it was Snape, Snape on the ground with Voldemort standing above him, one sharp hand wrapped around Snape's sallow neck, and I could see the blood welling around Voldemort's nails. If I did nothing, Voldemort would kill him.

I didn't even think, just launched myself across the last few feet of space through the rapidly fading image of snake and crashed into Voldemort, my shoulder catching him in the stomach. We fell together, a tangle of thin sharp limbs. He rolled as soon as we hit the ground, trying to get his hands around my neck, but I ducked my head away and cracked our foreheads together. My scar pulsed.

I saw stars.

Voldemort screamed, and I jerked my head away from the noise. My scar stretched as I pulled my head back, as if it was stuck to him. I gasped, yanking harder, putting my hand on his face. My fingers sank into his forehead as if it were made of putty, and I screamed, trying to free my hand. Underneath me, Voldemort thrashed, his arms clawing at my robe. He had no strength, and I held him down eaisly. I felt bigger than my body.

Snape put his hands over mine, pushing them deeper into Voldemort's face. I looked up at him, and his eyes were hot on mine. Blood streaked this throat.

"Finish it, Potter. You are in charge here, not he. This is your body, your mind. He is weak, a remnant of personality left in his magic... Absorb what's left of his magic, and he will be no more. You must make him yours." He forced my hands deeper, and Voldemort's hands fell away from my back. His green robe was melding with his skin. My scar, still stretched between our faces, pulsed.

I looked down again at Voldemort. His head, bald and pale, looked like nothing more than a soft lump beneath my hand. I pressed harder, and my hands looked very tan against the pale flesh beneath. His face was gone, melted away into the lump.

"I don't want him," I said to Snape, my tongue scraping at the roof of my mouth. Somehow my words were clear.

Snape took his hands off mine, being careful not to touch Voldemort. "It matters little now, Potter. It matters very little now."He sat back, a looming presence, his arms tucked into his robe. His nose looked very like a beak.

Potter, Voldemort whispered, this doesn't have to end this way. Join me, and we can rise up together. Together we can strike down this treacherous bastard-

I pushed harder, my fingers curling into claws. The body beneath me twitched, and then started to disappear faster, sinking into itself under my hands. Already he was no larger than a Coraxis.

Snape chuckled. "You look angry. Dare I assume he's trying to get you to turn on me?"

We can kill him! Think of it, Potter, him crying beneath you, as you've been beneath him so many times -

Memories flashed, of crying out beneath Snape... but none of them bad, exactly. I flushed, glancing at Snape from the corner of my eye, and what was left of Voldemort screamed.

No! NO! I will not be defeated by a filthy Mudblood catamite. I swear on all I hold holy, boy, I will come back. I will eat you from the inside like a cancer, and you'll be an empty shell that I'll take over. I'll rise up and-

"Oh, shut up," I said, and squeezed the last few handfuls of white putty that was Voldemort into a small ball. I sat back, holding the shrinking ball.The thin line of flesh still connected us. I could hear Voldemort screaming faintly. The ball was only as big as a snitch, and shrinking. Now a marble... now a pea, and I held it in-between two fingers.

"Well?" said Snape.

"Well what? What am I supposed to do with him?"

Snape sighed heavily. "You really are an idiot, Potter," he said, and grabbed my hair, wrenching my head back. I lost hold of the little ball, and it retracted into my forehead with a tiny pop.

I sat backwards, my breath coming a bit hard. Snape sat down across from me, his arms crossed over one knee. We stared at each other. Around us stretched nothing.

"Is he really gone?" I asked, even though I knew the answer was yes.

Snape smirked at me. "No stupid questions."

I glared at him, and his smirk widened. A trickle of pleasure wound into my stomach at that smirk.

"So," I said, covering my reaction by standing up briskly and brushing off my hands. "What do we do now?"

He looked up at me, and his smirk was knowing. I looked away. He got up slowly.

"Well," he said, "I go back to managing the menagerie, and trying to clean up the mess created by the fall of Voldemort."

"What do you mean clean up the mess? Voldemort's gone. Everything can go back to normal, right?"

His smirk faded. "Potter, the Death Eaters have gained much ground in the last few years. They are more hydra than serpent. We've cut off one head, but others will rise."

"Malfoy," I said, and my hands clenched into fists.

"Among others. Do not think that this fight is over... but, for now, your portion of it is."

I blinked. "What?"

He shook his head. "You are... were... very suited to behead this particular snake. The others will be more cautious." Snape suddenly looked up at the featureless sky. I could hear faint noises, as if someone was calling me.

"Potter. When you get back, you will not have much time. Head for the garden in my room. There is a door at the back, hidden beneath the ivy. Ron should be able to get the key out of the box by the door. Get out, head for the forest. There are... friends waiting for you."

The voices got louder, and suddenly the infinite plain was rushing inwards, collapsing toward us at an incredible rate.

"Wait! How has it been so long since the castle fell? What about the twins? And Hermione's family? And Sirius?" And you, my mind said, but I didn't say it.

Snape stepped closer. The vanishing horizon made it seem like he was even nearer. He looked down into my face. "Why you would think that I would only keep you unconsious for a few hours at a time is beyond me. You three spent a great deal of time asleep in my cupbords. A great deal of time. And those I could get out are out. Those I cannot I will do my best to protect. I will do everything I can to make sure they come to no real harm, Potter. You will know when it's safe to come and get the rest."

"How?"

He lifted one corner of his mouth. "A little bird will tell you."

He was very close to me. I swallowed, hard.

He leaned in, his mouth almost touching mine.

"Goodbye, Modha," he said, and kissed me, his tongue raking over the ruin of mine, and I moaned, sliding my hands up into his hair, holding our mouths together.

The world imploded.

*****

I woke, head pounding. Hermione had my head in her lap, and Ron crouched over me. She cried out a little when I opened my eyes.

Where's Snape? I signed, and they exchanged a glance.

"Not here, thank god," said Ron, and I shook my head, faintly, and then regretted it.

"Ow," I said, my voice thick.I sat up with their help.

Brae appeared at my elbow. One had to go, he signed, and I nodded. You must get up, godfather. We don't have much time.

I struggled to stand, and then grabbed my wand off the table. I tucked Voldemort's wand into my robe. It felt like a empty stick.

Out through the garden, I signed, and Ron and Hermione nodded.

The door to the garden was unlatched, and the moonlight was cold and sweet. We slipped to the back wall of the garden, and my questing hands found the door under the ivy. I felt along the wall for the key box. Ron's fingers passed through the barrier with no trouble, and he withdrew the key. It glinted in his fingers.

Ron unlocked the door, and it swung slowly open, showing the long field of grass that led down to the forest. I turned to ask Brae a question -

-and found the five Coraxis in a tight huddle, with Brae at the center. The feathers under his eyes looked wet. Fah was making little broken noises.

I waited until they broke apart. Brae?

He fluffed his feathers, and appeared to take a deep breath. I am coming with you, godfather.

I blinked, but nodded. I turned to his siblings, still knotted together. Thank you,I signed, and then touched my fist to my nose solemnly.

The four of them saluted me back.

Then we were slipping out the door and running across the field, the grass cold and wet with dew under our bare feet, and Brae hopped and flapped along, keeping up somehow. We ran, the whole sky open above our heads, the castle door standing open behind us, ran and ran until the Forest swallowed us up. I slowed as we went under the trees, and looked back at the castle, my hand on the rough wood of a tree.

The castle towered huge in the dark, shining with light on the hill. I thought I could see a birdlike shape standing in one lit window.

My breath plumed in the air. The shape in the window didn't move. I watched for a moment, images swirling in my head. Snape, standing over me in the bath. Snape, telling me I would bleed. Snape, his tongue in my mouth. I shivered a little, feeling a cool breeze blow across my neck. Snape, his hands on me as he drew the tattoo. I took a deep breath, my fingers digging into the bark. Snape, the smell of him in my nose, his skin hot under my hands, his fingers pressing hard on my hips. His cock inside me. His arms around me, holding me in the bath. His words in my ears.

"Because I have to. Because you can take it. Because I can."

Goodbye...Master, I thought, and turned away, following my friends into the forest.


End file.
